


The Apprentice

by myu_gao



Category: MewGulf - Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Paper Magician AU, Strangers to Lovers, gulf is a cutie, im sorry chopper bb, lots of pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myu_gao/pseuds/myu_gao
Summary: Mew doesn’t expect to fall for Mild’s new apprentice - as a high-profile Smelter, he’s got too much on his plate to even think about it. But for the first time in his life, his expectations are subverted.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- note that a lot of liberties were taken in terms of the magic and how it works  
> \- probably a lot of loopholes lol  
> \- for some context: Folding = paper magic, Smelting = metal magic, Gaffing = glass magic  
> \- in this au magicians can manipulate certain manmade materials, and need to complete an apprenticeship to become a certified magician  
> \- the "prestige" order of the magics goes: Smelting > Gaffing > Folding  
> \- but who cares amirite  
> \- check out the books for more details! they're a light read and i like the world-building

When Mild first tells Mew about his new apprentice, Mew doesn’t think much of it. To be fair, he’d been far too focused on his new project, been in one of those phases where he doesn’t have much concern for anything at all, not even food or sleep. Thank god for Mild, who makes sure to check up on him at his university studio and sometimes comes over to drag Mew out for a breath of fresh air and for a quick game of basketball.

So Mew completely expects it (and is extremely thankful) when Mild knocks on his door that same week. He doesn't quite expect Mild to bring along a stoic, shy man who very nearly trips on Mew's doorstep and very pointedly does not manage to salvage the situation with the jerky little bow he follows it up with.

This isn't the apprentice Mew was expecting. In full honesty, he'd been expecting someone more petite, more...not whatever this apprentice is, all gangly limbs and strong eyes. After all, Mild’s paper magic, Folding, with its softness and malleability, is a female-dominated field. This  _ nong  _ \- Gulf, was it? - doesn't look like the type to tie himself down to a lifetime of gentle animations and tiny paper cuts.  _ It must not have been a personal decision _ , Mew thinks. The only exception to this norm he’s ever met is Mild and by the looks of him, he hardly thinks this new apprentice will be the next one.

Mild also hasn’t had an apprentice in a long time, so Mew looks Gulf over with an extra-careful eye. Doe eyes stare back at him, sincere and honest-looking yet intimidating in their straightforwardness.

Mew invites them both in. His mother serves them some iced tea,  _ khanom chun _ , and spring rolls. Mild makes a delighted noise,  _ wai _ -ing Mew’s mother before grabbing one of the jellies.

Gulf  _ wai _ -s them politely as Mild introduces him - his full name is Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong (Mild stumbles a bit at the surname), he's a fourth-year Folding major in KMUTT and he's Mild's new apprentice. Mew takes a sip of his iced tea, then looks up and scrutinizes the boy more closely.

He's dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a prominent nose and chestnut-shaped lips. He's chewing through a spring roll lazily, eyes flickering back and forth between Mild and Mew's mom as they chat. Nothing new just yet. Mew turns his attention back to the excited conversation.

It's somehow always been like this with Mild. He's sociable, easygoing, and can strike up a conversation with anyone and anything. It's how he wormed his way into being ever-present at the Jongcheveevat family dinners, always with a quick smile and a story about the latest adventures of his students. Today the conversation is about onsens, and he's engaged Mew's mother in a very serious discussion about the perfect water temperatures and the merits of sulfur.

Mew would normally be an active part of this conversation, but today he finds more comfort in his iced tea. It's been a long week, and the hot weather doesn't help one bit. Which...

"It's great you came over because we were going to call for you anyway." At Mild’s enquiry about the unbelievably hot temperatures inside the Jongcheeveevat household, Mew's mom goes on to explain the whole situation with their broken AC, and how she was going to ask them to Fold something for her to temporarily alleviate the heat. Mild tuts sympathetically.

"That's the worst timing, mae, it's so hot today. Gulf, can you Fold them a fan?" Gulf nods, digging some paper out of his back pocket and carefully selecting a small, baby-blue piece before tucking the rest away. Between his concentrated expression and the oily fingers pressing at the paper, Mew can't tell if he appreciates this nong's passion or is extremely urged to offer him some hand sanitizer.

"Why don't you Fold it yourself?" Mew asks Mild, tone teasing.

"This nong's really good." His mom makes a vague cooing noise. Gulf, in the midst of his concentrated Folding, gives a quick, almost shy glance towards them, before appraising his own work with furrowed brows. He finishes quite quickly, Folding clumsily but efficiently, and clutches the little fan in his hands, glancing up at the conversation ever so often. He snatches his chance when there's a lull in conversation, shyly announcing he's done to the entire table. At Mild's nod of approval, Gulf opens the fan, and immediately a gentle breeze fills the room.

Slight applause around the table, and there's a gentle blush on Gulf's cheeks. There's no trace of the stoic man Mew had met at the front door, just a young apprentice who's created something that works decent. Maybe more than a little decent, Mew thinks, grateful for the breeze that brushes over his cheekbones. Maybe there's a little more to this nong than first meets the eye.

He thinks of Gulf's furrowed brows and the gentle way he'd Folded the fan. It's the same concentrated passion Mew's seen in Mild as he pores over a project, the same childlike delight when he's done and he discovers that  _ yes, it works _ .

Maybe Gulf is a little more like Mild than Mew initially thought.

* * *

Mew is a good Smelter, and he knows it. His enchantments take to metal like ducks to water. On the first day of his own apprenticeship, he’d Smelted a chain of unblemished, unbreakable metal. His mentor had immediately declared him a genius. Mew knows he’s not a genius, but he’s worked hard and honed his Smelting skills to perfection.  _ That _ he’s proud of. The metal sings to him and he sings back as he weaves enchantments into the engravings of the metal, Smelting pans that never burn, hammers that always have just-enough strength.

Inside the academic spheres and on the papers, he is an exemplary Smelter. He’s enrolled in the top university in Thailand with a fellowship for studying methods to reduce outsource costs with various Smelting enchantments. It’s a complex topic, one that Mew has worked hard at and might make a breakthrough on (at least that’s what his professors and Mew himself hope).

Now more than ever, he spends all of his time holed up in his university studio. Honestly, he doesn't have to. But it's the easier option for now.

* * *

When Gulf kicks the ball into his backyard, Mew is taking a break for the first time in what feels like forever. It's not like his university work has slowed down by any means, it's just that his mom had pointed out his deepening eyebags again over the breakfast table. It would have just been a daily occurrence if she hadn't made sure to follow through this time by locking his study door, confiscating his car keys, and banishing him to the backyard so he could  _ get some fresh air, god help her _ .

Mew has to admit to himself that it does feel good to finally get some fresh air. What he doesn't expect is the soccer ball that flies into his backyard while he's halfway through his first chapter on  _ Mirror Universes in a Nutshell _ . Of course Mew doesn't notice all this until there's a loud  _ thud _ and his eyes snap up from the inked pages. 

He stares down at the mess of soil, the crushed parts of what used to be a Folded lemon tree (imported from Turkey, incredibly expensive), and what seems to be a football made of paper (and decorated with a pattern of cats), wordless. What on earth?

" _Phi_ Mew!" He looks over to see Gulf peeking over the other side of the fence.

"Sorry, I think I just - _shia_!" Gulf's eyes dart around rapidly until they fall upon his soccer ball, and the absolute mess that lies around it. Then he's jumping the fence with an unexpected ease.

For all his enthusiasm in jumping Mew's fence, Gulf seems very nervous. He sort of hovers around the mess of soil and paper, as if he's trying to fix the lemon tree with telekinesis or something. As if the power of his eyes will throw the destroyed lemon tree back into a space from the past. The Folding enchantments fade away before their eyes.

"I'll fix it, _phi_." Gulf says determinedly. Mew waves him off.

“Really, _phi_. Just give me little time, I can fix it.” Gulf sounds oddly determined. Inside, Mew's already thinking about how much a new Folded lemon tree will cost, how he's going to replace it, and how he's going to do all that without his attentive mother noticing. Plus Folded plants are notoriously hard to get and very much one-of-a-kind items. Drat. He looks back at the  _ nong _ , who's still staring at him with a determined look on his face.  _ Ah, what's the worst he can do? _

Mew sighs.

"Yeah. I don't know much about Folding so I'm not sure if you can fix it," (Mew really doesn't think he can, especially since he's just an apprentice) "but you can come over and try tomorrow morning, if you're free." (He's honestly not expecting Gulf to go through with it - he's learned better than to blindly trust other people's words.)

Gulf is immediately over the next morning, a stack of dusty books in his hands (which must be from that cramped little corner room Mild claims is a library) and a few more sticking out of a worn backpack.

Mew is a bit impressed - just by turning up, Gulf's exceeded his expectations. He hadn't expected the younger to go so far as to  _ prepare _ .

"Good morning,  _ khun phi _ ! I have something for you, wait - " Mew watches amusedly as Gulf attempts to balance all of his books on one arm. He fishes something out from his already-open backpack, a jar of honey ginger lemon slices. It's Mew's second-favourite detox drink after green tea, and when he opens it up for a sniff - yep, it's Mild's recipe.

"Oh, Gulf!" Gulf dips into a hasty bow, "Back so soon?" Mew's mom asks, lifting her teacup to her lips with a teasing smile. Gulf looks to Mew with wide, unsure eyes.

"Mama, he's just here to help me with a project." Mew lies smoothly, placing a hand to the small of Gulf's back and guiding him into his study.

His  _ mama _ 's murmur of "Sure, sweetie" drifts after them into the room.

"Call me if you boys need anything!" She follows up.

The office is all dark wood, a contrast to the sunny backyard adjacent to it. Gulf winces when he sees the destroyed plant in a corner of the room, newspaper sheets under it.

"Sorry I can't stay for any longer, it's just," Mew takes a quick glance at his Rolex, "I'm a little behind on time."

"Feel free to stay here as long as you want and call  _ khun  _ Nok if you need anything."

Mew's hand is on the doorknob when Gulf calls out a shy "P'Mew!"

"Um, I'll do my best!" Gulf raises a little fist into the air, and Mew gives him a tight smile in return.

Outside the room, Mew debates for a while before setting up some simple wards into the metal doorknob. It isn't that he doesn't trust Gulf, it's just, well, better safe than sorry. Then he leaves for work.

It's one of those mundane days where Mew picks at some of his old readings, reading them over and over again until it's like the words are printed on the back of his eyelids. He makes no real breakthroughs, but he scribbles down sufficient notes to be happy.

Tucked away in his studio, Mew almost forgets about Gulf and his stacks of dusty books until he's at his front door. The midnight sky is dark with minute traces of daytime clouds when he finally arrives home.

He pads through the hallways quietly, heading towards the study. He's curious to see if Gulf's made any progress, even though he honestly doesn’t expect anything. What can you really expect from an apprentice?

Being the scaredy-cat Mew is, he doesn't notice the hunched over silhouette in the corner of the room until he flicks the light on to reveal a slumbering Gulf. He almost jumps, clutching a hand over his heart. Gulf is still sitting on the floor where he left him, one hand in the soil as if connecting and tethering himself to what was once there. He's surrounded by piles of books all flipped open to different pages, with noticeably new dog-eared pages and wrinkled spines. Mew drops to his knees beside his  _ nong _ , peeking over shi shoulder to see pages on re-animation and plant-related magic and even a page that, upon closer glance, is just full of cats. He chuckles, looking over the terms and jargon he doesn't really understand, and at that page full of cats, and feels a sudden warmth in his heart.  _ Wow, I want him. _

_ Wait, what? _

Mew retracts that thought immediately with a ferociousness that scares himself.

He looks back down at those pages and sees the notes in the margins, the neat handwriting a stark contrast to the haphazard, stream-of-conscious nature of the notes. Some of them are informative, details on the enchantments needed to replace xylem function, and others are...well...different.

_ STUPID PLANT _

_ I'M SORRY MR PLANT I DIDN'T MEAN IT _

_ PLS MR PLANT I JUST WANT YOU TO LIVE _

_ I WANT KAPRAOOOOOO _

Mew chuckles. Then gives a very big sneeze, the dust from the books triggering his allergies.

Though he doesn't allow himself to return to his previous thought, he does allow that soothing feeling of being taken care of, of being cared for, wash over him. It's been a long time, and somehow his heart feels impossibly whole.  _ You’ve known this nong for one day,  _ Mew’s brain tells him. He can’t find it in himself to care.

Gulf doesn't quite figure out how the plants work, in the end, and no matter how hard he tries, Mew can't find it in his heart to be disappointed. Not when he's seen the haphazard notes, the sleepless nights. Not when Gulf has somehow managed to charm his entire household -  _ khun  _ Nok always makes Gulf's favourite  _ kaprao _ when he's over,  _ nong _ Jom has slyly hinted to shipping them. Heck, his own mother is about two steps away from adopting Gulf. (And Mew can see why.)

Thankfully they hadn't been real plants, Mew supposes. He'd learned his lesson about care, whether it be plants or people. It's a lesson he's learnt bitterly. Mew knows he's good at taking care of himself - okay, maybe not stellar, but good enough. But when it comes to other things, Mew's learned and is still learning. He's a lover, but sometimes he loves too much and it hurts the things he loves.  _ Gulf definitely wouldn’t have been able to fix real plants. _

Gulf stops playing in Mild’s backyard (because it is actually a really small backyard), and sometimes Mew will see him kicking his soccer ball around the park on his way back from work. Then Mew will row down his window, call for Gulf to  _ hurry up and get in _ , Gulf will look both parts surprised and delighted, then say,  _ aow, phi, you came to pick me up? _ . Mild smartly chooses to stay indoors whenever Mew drops Gulf off.

Sometimes Gulf will play in Mew's front yard. It's been a little more than sometimes, recently - Mew's mom has been awfully consistent with her invites. The metal gates Mew had specially enchanted to make the family house a family mansion means their front yard is pretty large. Mew had tried to explain it to Gulf once, how the enchantment extends the space by stealing a piece of it from some other universe. Gulf tells Mew that they should live together in the future so that he can have a big front yard to play football in forever.

Mew moves his breaks from the backyard to the front yard just to watch Gulf kick around a ball, a light sheen of sweat covering his face. He says it's because the air is nicer in the front yard. Gulf smiles. Agrees and says Mew's front yard definitely has the best air.  _ Perfect for soccer, too. _

_ And for reading _ , Mew says. They share secretive smiles.

* * *

Sometimes Mew thinks about her. She'd been the start of it all, that disastrous cycle through the five stages of grief, with at least one relationship for everytime Mew fell back into the overpowering waves of his own emotions.

Or maybe it wasn't so much a cycle as it was a long, long line of fleeting relationships, each more devastatingly inconsequential than the last.

Her name was Love, and Mew loved her, he really did. Too much, too thoughtlessly. It wasn't right to say that Love was Mew's type - it'd be more apt to say that Love had been the blueprint for what would become Mew's type. She'd been small and cute in the best and worst of ways, with a pout that could disarm even the most gruff and standoffish of people.

(She'd have gotten along with Gulf. Scratch that, she'd definitely get along with Gulf.)

They'd been the ideal couple - or at least, what Mew had thought was an ideal couple - a short, cute girl with a gentle voice, and her tall, muscled, caring boyfriend. Mew still scorns his previous self for falling into society's trap. 

Sure, they'd been perfect in society's eyes, and Mew's eyes. But some of his interests - the paper trinkets that caught his eye at the market, the enchanted glass birds at the vintage store - just weren't supposed to be things men were interested in. At least, according to Love. And whatever Love didn’t like it would be gone - that was just a fact. Because Love was cute in a way that many thought represented yielding, a flexible personality, but was really a cover for a stubborn set of ideas.

(Mew had found this out in a long, detailed, stubborn process that the professors who’d taught him the research method would be proud of.)

At this point, Mew was still an undergraduate student, coming to terms with himself and who he was. Physically, he'd presented (as he still did) very masculine and was proud of it. 

However, Mew had always been interested in Gaffing and Folding. The path for him to pursue them had long closed, and he had no regrets. He was never going to Gaff an enchanted glass mirror or Fold a paper butterfly. He was going to be a star Smelter and he was going to make his family proud. That didn't stop him from dreaming about what could've been.

He himself had been afraid of it at first - he didn't quite understand it, but it felt like something he shouldn't be doing, shouldn't be interested in. And she didn't like it either.

Her cuteness had become an excuse, her smallness a justification. It was her that was small and cute, and she was the only thing he was supposed to love that was small and cute. Everything else he liked had to be like him - strong, the ideal representation of masculinity. Mew was pretty sure that wasn’t what he wanted, but she’d convinced him that the nagging feelings in his chest were nothing but a passing annoyance. He couldn't feel this way, he shouldn't feel this way. It wasn't possible. 

Even moreso, it was impossible that they should not be the ideal couple.  _ We’re perfect _ , Love always said.  _ That’s why we’re together.  _ After all, she was his type. Small, cute, caring.  _ Small, cute, caring. My type. _ He repeated that mantra in his head as he pressed her hand to his lips and gave in to her every whim.

He should be the one to protect her but how could he protect her if he liked delicate things? The only delicate thing he was allowed to love was her, and that was just the way things worked.

(Mew always stood up when he thought things were wrong. Love was too smart, and her deceptions flew right under his radar. He didn’t realize anything was wrong back then.

He'd thought she'd only been that way towards the end of their relationship. But he'd looked back, made a mental list:

  * She'd pouted as she told Mew he shouldn't hum so much, it was bad for his image.
  * She'd clung his shoulder as he picked out modules. Told him not to go for clockwork. Maybe something else like...machinery?



Maybe she'd been like that the whole time. He was the one who'd changed.)

They never argued, not really, just little deceptions and manipulations that turned into mild diggings, passive-aggressive attitudes. She never said aloud what she wanted, but she kept trying to manipulate Mew into becoming that something. And Mew tried to have an honest conversation that was batted away when the first sign of it ever emerged. At first he thought he didn't know what version of him she wanted, and later he realized that he didn't care for what it was. All he knew was that he wasn't going to be it.

Honestly, even he had been afraid of the Gaffing, the Folding at first - he didn't quite understand it, but it felt like something he shouldn't be doing, shouldn't be interested in. And she didn't like it either.

So Mew had resigned himself to eyeing the paper trinkets at the night markets, looking into the glass of his Gaffed phone and imagining the multicoloured, twinkling glass tchotchkes that had decorated Love's room.

He'd given in after a particularly bad argument. It had felt like one of those arguments where the reason they were arguing wasn't important. It was more about what remained unsaid.

He'd bought a little Folded dog from the street market. It'd been an impulse buy - the little creature looked like Chopper and normally Mew would've been able to resist this sentimental urge. But he was weak that day.

When he'd brought it back, both his mother and Jom hadn't really said anything. Looked up, acknowledged he was home. Then his mother told him to go hang it up in the living room. Jom folded more chocolate chips into her third batch of cookies.

As he grew into himself and who he was, and realised the ways Love was trying to change him, he couldn't take it anymore.

He'd love her, always love her no matter how bad she'd treated him, no matter how horrible and dysfunctional their relationship had become. And on some level, he thinks he hated that he loved her. Because subconsciously he'd realized quite a while ago that they didn't belong with each other, yet he stayed, out of selfishness and desperation.

He loved her, but eventually it was time to love himself a little more. He broke up with her in a café, and didn't even buy coffee. Mew didn't need to be the courteous gentleman anymore.

This time, he looked away from the twist of her lips, the pout that had always managed to ensnare him, over and over again.

All the same, Mew coped with their breakup the worst. Not that he got to see how she coped with their breakup, but some things you just know without saying. He coped with it the worst because though he'd been the one to break it off, he'd been the one who loved more fiercely.

He went through the five stages of depression like clothing in the wash, from denial to anger to depression, back to anger, then back to depression again.

He teetered on the edge of acceptance when he forced himself back into the game - into his studies, into ignoring his mother's concerned stare over family dinners, into hanging out with his friends like nothing had happened. When he and his friends hit the bar that night, it was another night of searching for escape. Yet this time he found it not in the alcohol, but in the comfort of another's lips.

He’d gone through an entire string of relationships almost mercilessly. He was still a passionate lover, but the love that he gave felt splintered, like the broken shards of a mirror trying desperately to reflect an image of love he'd known and lost. 

He left them heartbroken, but was always selfishly comforted by the fact that although he'd broken their hearts, he'd broken his own even more.    


* * *

It's been a long time since Mew's been at the markets. His mama had pressed a list into his hands this morning, and urged him to go out and get a breath of fresh air,  _ please _ . He gave in to her, and his heart broke a little, that she had to wake up in the wee hours of the morning just to convince her son to get out a bit more.

But she's right - moms are always right. The air of the market is certainly not a paragon of fresh air, but it's a nice reprieve from the almost-metallic heat of his university studio. Mew checks off the list efficiently. Oranges. Apples. Green tea. All very healthy. Is his mama trying to tell him something? He notices a head of wavy hair next to the cartons of oranges. Hears a soft  _ meow _ , and remembers the cat patterns on a Folded soccer ball.

"Gulf?" He asks hesitantly. 

" _ Aow _ , p'Mew!" Gulf says, continuing to pet the cat. When Mew doesn't move, Gulf gestures towards him quickly, a slight come-hither moment.

"Come pet the kitty!" Mew's disdain must show on his face, because Gulf pouts.  _ Pouts _ . Mew thinks the cat is indeed very cute, but his inner germophobe is poking on his conscience. He peers closer at the cat, tucked into the side of a glass box of fish, enchanted to keep the water in and the curious kittens out. The kitten's pawing futilely at the fish on the other side of the glass as Gulf pats its tiny head and scratches it under the neck.

"Come on, phi! It's just a kitten! It won't bite!" That really honestly is the least of Mew's fears, but he squats down beside Gulf, hesitating before he strokes a careful finger down the cat's tail. It flicks flippantly. His inner germophobe screeches.

"What're you doing here?"

"Grocery shopping for P'Mild." Gulf gestures to the recycling bag on his shoulder. It's covered with an obnoxious, curtain-looking floral pattern. Must be Mild's.

"I even have a list, phi." The younger shakes the tiny scrap of paper in his hands, squinting at it. "It's for  _ kaprao _ !"

Gulf's eyes are shining. Mew doesn't think he's ever heard Gulf sound this excited.

"You really like  _ kaprao _ , don't you?"

“If I could eat  _ kaprao _ for all three meals a day, I would." Mew believes him.

"But if you're shopping for  _ kaprao _ ingredients, why are you at the fish section?" Gulf remains unflustered.

"I saw the cat, phi." Gulf says this proudly, like seeing a cat would be reason enough for anything. 

They go to the vegetables stall to get broccoli for Mew and some Thai basil for Gulf. Mew learns very quickly that Gulf is atrocious at haggling. He has a stoic demeanour that softens naturally into a combination of cute and shy when he's flustered, which the aunties should love, but he's atrocious at haggling, and Mew has to swiftly take over.

The auntie at the vegetable stall lectures Gulf mock-sternly on this subject, though Gulf doesn't seem to realize she's joking at first, staring between her and Mew with helpless bambi eyes. It doesn't last very long, because she recognizes Mew and turns around halfway to lecture him instead.

" _ Nong _ Mew!"

" _ Khrab _ ."

"Are you going to let this  _ nong _ deal with shopping all by his lonesome?"

"No, phi."

"You help him out, got it?"

" _ Khrab phom _ ."

Mew ends up helping Gulf out with most of the shopping because, frankly, the young man's more than a bit helpless on this front.

Though Mew's also a bit helpless (largely since he's a  _ koon chai _ ), he does know how to haggle with the aunties. At least, he knows how to use his charm and his kpop idol-esque looks to bag those bargains.

It's been a long time still Mew's been at the market, but they recognise him as that nice yet handsome  _ koon chai _ , the ideal son-in-law. Gulf cheekily but very quietly asks "What about me?" - and of course the aunties catch it: they tell Gulf he's too much like their son for them to think about it. Gulf shyly asks for the ingredients and tags a shy "mama" onto the back of it. All of the aunties are pleased but none as much as the one at the fruit stall, who squeals and tells Gulf to choose something extra.

Gulf replies "thank you, mama", and Mew has to drag him away from the fruit stall before the auntie actually faints. Mew should have expected this: Gulf's shy but he's the kind of shy that invites the aunties in the market to pinch his cheeks and coo about how adorable he is despite being a full 185cm in height. 183cm tall Mew can see where they're coming from.

Mew drives Gulf home, and they sit in surprisingly comfortable silence, the bags in the trunk jostling ever so often as Mew's Mazda runs over a bump.

They make small talk, though it's mostly Mew talking and Gulf nodding along. Mew learns that Gulf had actually chosen paper magic, though the latter doesn't elaborate on it. Gulf doesn't elaborate on many things except for football, cats, and sleep, Mew quickly learns. He spends a good half of the ride listing out all the new cats he's met in this market. He says they're a lot more friendly than Ju, his family's cat.

"Ju only listens to  _ mae _ . And sometimes p'Grace. Never me." Gulf gives a very soft harrumph, and spends the other half of the ride staring out the window as if looking for more stray cats. The radio hums gently in the background.

Bangkok traffic is atrocious as usual, and Mew breathes out a sigh of relief as they turn into more residential roads. Gulf seems to snap out of whatever daze he's in when Mew starts parking, and gawks openly at the way Mew one-handedly steers the car into one of the parking spaces.

"You can park like that?"

Mew chuckles. This  _ nong _ is so innocent.

"Do you not drive?"

“I can. I don't like it, though."

"If you don't like driving then how do you get around?" 

"People drive me." Gulf says matter-of-factly. From anyone else's mouth, Mew would think that statement arrogant. With Gulf, he's learning to take him as he is. He probably just doesn't like to drive.

Mew has a lot less than Gulf, who's struggling with a lot of bags - way too many, considering it's just food for him and Mild. Mew offers to walk Gulf to his door. Gulf sputters a few rejections, but silently acquiesces when Mew insists on taking some of his bags.

Mew doesn't give him any space to argue, sliding the frail plastic out from between Gulf's fingers. The younger complies without protest, using a now-free hand to ring the doorbell.

Mild seems quite delighted that Mew has found himself on his doorstep.

"Since you helped n'Gulf, you might as well stay over for dinner." Mew thinks: Jom and his mom are out for dinner and his father's out on another business meeting. He nods.

"N'Gulf you chop the shallots...actually no, p'Mew, could you? For his own sake and all our sakes, n'Gulf should probably stick to washing vegetables."

"What - is this a cracked egg? Guys..." Both Mew and Gulf break out into laughter at the sight of Mild standing there, one hand covered with the yellowy yolk and a decidedly unamused expression on his face. There's one cracked egg amongst the five that they'd bought. Not very good, statistically.

They settle in their assigned roles in companionable silence. Mild flickering about the kitchen, going between meticulously measuring out the seasoning and tasting it (with Gulf's help) and caramelizing some sauce. Gulf washing the vegetables to the background of Mild's nagging for him to  _ hurry up, these vegetables won't wash themselves. _ Mew observing their dynamic with great amusement as he chops the shallots and minces the garlic.

"N'Gulf loves  _ kaprao _ ," Mild brings up, and Mew nods - he remembers mention of eating kaprao three times a day, "this is the third? Fourth? Day in a row we're eating this."

"Fifth, actually." Gulf pips up, not looking sheepish at all.

"What on earth." Mew deadpans. 

Mild agrees with a chuckle, says that Gulf is being spoiled and should be  _ absolutely honoured _ to be his apprentice. Gulf looks very happy and very much satisfied with his status as a spoiled apprentice, like a cat that got the cream.

"Plus, when I asked  _ nong _ to cut up some onions the other day, he managed to burn himself." Mild chastises.

" _ Alai wa _ ?" instinctively, Mew reaches for Gulf's wrist, eyes roaming. Gulf turns over his other wrist and sure enough, there's a tiny mark where there'd clearly been a burn.

"It's just a small burn, Mew. No need to overreact." Mew removes his thumb from where he hadn't realized it'd been stroking over the slightly raised part of Gulf's skin.

"Besides, this  _ nong _ hurts himself like it's a competition. Just the other day he burned himself on your no-burn pan," Mew stifles a laugh - trust Gulf to do the impossible. "Then just yesterday he bumped his head on the attic ceiling."

"It's not my fault I'm too tall, it's your fault you're short - no,  _ phi! _ " Gulf laughs, ducking from Mild's sticky hands.

"Anyways, this is normal!" Gulf tells them it's been that way since he was a kid. He points out a scar near his brow (from falling off a bike), another on the back of his head (from falling off a rolling chair), and subconsciously Mew reaches out to touch those scars, as if touching them will somehow heal them. Mild snatches him out of it with a subtle cough and Mew looks away, suddenly very fixated on the rice he's supposed to be washing.

The  _ kaprao _ looks good, and tastes good. Mew finds himself going for seconds - his appetite hasn't been this good in a while.

Mild's cooking has improved, Mew notices. Perhaps he'll come over more often.

* * *

Mild comes over for a midnight drink later - tonight it's simple, just a couple of canned beers, still in the Family Mart plastic bag. They're Asahi, Mew's favourite, and he sighs in appreciation as he cracks a can open.

"You're very touchy with our _ nong _ ." Mild says airily.

Mew shrugs, maintains a flippant air. Mild draws in a deep breath.

"I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"I won't." Mew replies with a certainty he doesn't quite feel.

Beer's not a drink that's meant to be nursed, but they let the perspiration from the cans drip slowly in the lukewarm Bangkok night. 

* * *

Gulf fits into Mew's world with surprising ease. He seems a little more sure now, even reaches out to Mew a few times. Usually it's pestering the latter into going grocery shopping with him, into helping him with the aunties. 

Mew says Gulf obviously has all of the aunties wrapped around his little finger, but Gulf says no, Mew's the one they all want as a son-in-law, plus he's really really good at haggling.  _ Your son-in-law powers are really strong, phi _ , Gulf says seriously.  _ Na, phi? Please? _

Mew finds himself giving in every time.

At the market, Gulf finds cats and kittens of every sort, at a rate of about one kitten per market visit until he knows all the kittens from the fish stalls to the fruit stalls on the next street. He’s given them all names, which he always announces to Mew with a very proud smile on his face.

One day they chance upon a single kitten all by her lonesome at the market. It's weird because they recognise this kitten and she's one of a litter. Just the other day they'd come by and Gulf had been surrounded by a mess of kittens, all various shades of tabby. Mew had appreciated the view as the mother cat, an orange tabby herself, had purred into his warm hand.

Except now the cat and most of her kittens are gone, leaving this little one alone. They ask the auntie running the stall if she's seen the cat recently. After all, she’d usually been the one to give Mew and Gulf some cat food to feed the cats with. She says no - she thought the cat and all her kittens were gone, she’d seen them padding away just the other day.

Mew and Gulf peer into the cardboard box.  _ Oranges _ , it says on the side. The grey tabby curled up against the damp cardboard gives a little mewl. She's the runt of the litter - just a week ago, all the others had been tottering out and about on shaky paws, leaving her nestled in her mother's bosom.

Gulf bends down, peers as close to the box as possible. He reaches out a hand, just a few centimetres away from the kitten, murmuring a few soothing words under his breath. The kitten rouses, eyeing Gulf's hand through bright blue slits. She bares her fangs a little. Gulf and Mew sit there with bated breath. It takes a while, but soon enough she's nuzzling into Gulf's palm, sniffing into it, deciding she likes the warmth, and choosing his palm as her new bed.

"I think she likes me." Gulf whispers to Mew excitedly, cupping the kitten's ears as if to protect it. Mew wants to protect  _ him _ .

“My family has a cat too. Ju." Mew nods. He vaguely remembers this. "I think she got tired of my jump scares. She just ignores me now.”

"You tried to jumpscare a cat?"

"I was a naughty kid, phi." Mew thinks about all the injuries Gulf mentioned. Naughty is perhaps an understatement.

"What about now?" Mew teases.

"Now I'm a good boy." The kitten purrs, as if to say  _ I'm a good kitten too! _

Mew can't believe there's a cat that doesn't like Gulf, who's sitting with this little grey tabby on his shoulders nosing at his face. Especially when a tiny pink tongue flicks at the apples of his cheeks and Gulf beams, looking to Mew as if to say  _ look! _ .

"I used to have a dog named Chopper." Mew says, focusing on the way the cat's fur shifts under his fingers. There's a firm, quiet finality to his statement, and they brush fingers over the short, coarse fur in companionable silence.

"I think she's asleep." Mew and Gulf bend down to ascertain this at the same time. Sure enough, her little pink belly is rising up and down in gentle waves.

Mew looks up, and  _ oh _ \- Gulf's face is so close he can feel the slow in and out of his breathing. Their fingers touch gently where they'd been petting the kitten.

"You have a lot of moles on your cheek, phi." Mew reaches for his face self-consciously, "They look like stars."  _ Oh. _

"I don't think anyone's coming back for her." Mew admits.

"Then let's take her, phi."

Mew finds himself agreeing easily.

* * *

Mew used to have a pet of his own. Not his family's, his own. 

He was a small Pomeranian named Chopper. His mom had been doubtful ("Will you have time in between your studies, Mew?"), Jom had been eager, and his father hadn't really been around enough to care.

Mew likes to think it was fate. He remembers the first time he'd met Chopper. It'd been at a breeder's down at  _ Saphan Sung _ . The puppies had bounded towards him the second towards the door - all the puppies except one.

Chopper's fur was a lot more black than brown back then, and his eyes had almost been too big for his little head. Like a little doll. He'd been padding anxiously around the edges of the pack of pups, tail bobbing anxiously.

Mew had broken away from the crowd of pups, leaving them to their squeaky toys and rubber balls in favour of approaching the black-and-brown pup now huddled up in the corner of the room, staring at Mew's approaching figure with wide eyes. Chopper had nudged a soft head into his palm the same way that kitten had curled up into Gulf's.

"That one's a bit sickly," the breeder explained, "we're not sure if he'll even make the month." Mew had chosen him anyway.

People say raising a pet changes them, and that's exactly what had happened to Mew. Chopper's sensitive sense of hearing had meant that Mew couldn’t really keep him in his Smelting studio for that long, which forced Mew out of the studio more often. He found himself alternating between walks through parks and ventures into museums, and occasionally visits to pet stores, where he spoiled Chopper with one too many sets of dog clothes.

In the moments where Mew was in the studio, he'd foregone his desk for lying on the floor, flipping the pages of the latest research with one hand whilst petting Chopper with the other.

Mew’s mom told him that that's how she knew she raised him right - the nurturing way he treated Chopper. Mew remembers tearing - it hadn't been the first time he's heard his mom say she's proud of him, and he's always known she was proud of him, so why did he cry? He still doesn't really know.

Mew doesn't miss those times, but he misses Chopper. Sometimes he dreams of them, those wide, doll-like eyes. Those orbs of innocence and trust had held him through many a dark night.

* * *

Mew finds himself taking up Mild's offers to come over much more often. After all, Mild only lives next door, what's the harm? Previously, he'd probably have convinced himself that he's got too much work to do, and probably shouldn't distract himself. If Mild notices, he tactfully doesn't mention it, instead opting for side-eyeing Mew and giving him teasing raises of the brow.

Mew knows why.

Mew's university studio also starts to become a little more than a workplace again.

That aside, Gulf starts coming over to Mew's studio more often. He usually smuggles the kitten over, says he's trying not to let Mild know about the cat just yet. Mew doesn't have the heart to tell him he's pretty sure Mild already knows. And he's certainly not going to ruin whatever is causing Gulf to seek refuge in his studio most days of the week. 

Gulf, unlike his initial stoic exterior, is an indecipherable amalgam of cute, mischievous, and capable. When he gets comfortable with someone, he really gets comfortable. The teasing and the onslaught of dad jokes are the most unexpected. They spend afternoons in the studio together, Mew reading and Gulf alternating between Folding, petting the cat, or scrolling through soccer videos on his Instagram feed.

Him and Gulf have exchanged numbers, and Gulf keeps sending him pictures of his new cat. He’d almost named her  _ Kaprao _ , but have very thankfully thought the better of it. He'd sent over several more ideas ( _ Gup _ ? _ Kana _ ? Eden Hazard?), and in return Mew suggests Alexander (that's too long), then Alexander Beethoven (that's even worse,  _ phi _ ).

Sometimes, Gulf wanders out into the city in search of a nice restaurant for them to lunch at. He brings Duan with him in a little sling bag he'd made. Gulf confesses he'd been on the phone with his sister an entire weekend trying to make it. Mew wisely doesn't mention the very distinctively floral pattern of the bag.

It's a Thursday today. They've just come back from lunch at a restaurant Gulf had scouted out. Gulf had, predictably, gotten  _ kaprao _ , and Mew had satiated himself with a warm bowl of  _ tom yum kung _ . Gulf has to go see Mild at the elementary school later, but for now Gulf's sunbathing next to the window, the kitten curled up on his tummy. Mew's trying to finish his latest reading, but as has been happening more often than not, he finds himself in conversation with Gulf.

“You never ended up telling me what you named her.”

" _ Duan _ ,  _ phi _ ." Duan.  _ Moon. _ The kitten stretches, grey fur rippling like the cycles of a moon.

"Duan is good."

"Better than Alexander." says Gulf with a wide smile on his face. 

"Alexander's a good name." Mew grumbles, fiddling with the page. He frowns at the thick remainder of the book. This book is ridiculously academic and dreary, even by Mew's standards. He might not be able to finish the rest of it by this week. Mew's usually a calculated person, has a whole calendar with designated tasks for each day. 

With Gulf entering his life, he finds his routine turned upside down, but not in the ways he expects. After all, Gulf is very adamant about not disturbing his phi.

Gulf's also made a habit of peering over Mew's shoulder as he reads. Mew reads a lot, and in the short breaks between Gulf's Folding he comes over to bother Mew. Gulf usually traces gently over a few words of English, saying them softly as if testing how the words sound in his mouth. He gives up kind of quickly after a few too many words like "industrial" and "outsource" and "Smelted empennage components", which Gulf very visibly winces at. 

He does listen attentively when Mew explains it all though he does admit he doesn't understand much. Mew still appreciates it.

This isn't just an isolated incident, Gulf in general is quite a good listener (though he's prone to dazing off at times, when he gives someone his attention, he really gives them his full attention).

Mew loves this, because some of his previous lovers wouldn't have bothered even pretending to listen to him, much less listen to him talk about his studies.

Unlike his previous lovers, Gulf doesn't destroy his routine, doesn't say he shouldn't have his head buried in his books half the day. Gulf doesn't manipulate him into giving up his daily goals to spend a day in the city. Instead, Gulf quietly stays by his side as he studies, allowing Mew to occasionally gather him up in his arms and thread careful fingers through his hair even as Mew reads about whatever sophisticated engineering concept he needs. 

Gulf even offers to explain some ROV strategies in exchange for Mew's ramblings. Mew says Gulf has no obligation to listen to his little academic musings, but Gulf insists. Also insists that he only give Mew offlane strategies, because "Phi's really good at a lot of things, but phi's  _ really _ bad at offlane."

"I guess I'll accept that exchange." teases Mew, though he knows he'd have accepted anything.

(Once, after Mew complains about not being able to keep track of his readings, a quick, passing comment, Gulf returns the next day with a little Folded paper man. Gulf's glued two triangles to its head, an imitation of cat ears.

"I call him the bookmark-keeper!" Gulf says proudly. The little bookmark-keeper (who Mew later dubs "Alexander", much to Gulf's chagrin), teeters across the desk, navigating very precariously before reaching the book Mew's opened.

" _ Checkkk _ "

"He'll bring you back to that page if you need it again! Just say the name. Or whatever's on the page. I don't know how many bookmarks he can keep though..." Gulf trails off, a thoughtful pout forming. Alexander plops down on the nearest book.

"Thank you." Mew says, trying to convey his sincerity through his eyes. He smooths a thumb over the paper cuts on Gulf's thumb. The younger man blushes.)

This Thursday Gulf had gotten all of his work done and had returned from his wanderings in the city to recommend a ramen restaurant for their lunch. On the way, he chatters excitedly about the new kittens he's discovered at the automobile shop, showing Mew the copious amount of photos he’d taken.

Gulf tells Mew about how Duan had made a new friend. He's been bringing the kitten to hang out with the other cats at the market, and along with him on his adventures in the city.

("She's shy, but she's getting used to it." Gulf tells him, "I think she likes  _ nong  _ Dao." The golden-furred kitten from the automobile shop, if Mew's memory serves him correctly. They seem like they'd be a good match.)

Gulf had also gotten into a paper-plane folding competition with some boys in the park. He says he doesn't remember how it all transpired, which is Gulf-speak for him being too embarrassed to recount it.

( _ Isn't that unfair? _ Mew asks. He's seen Gulf throw a paper plane from one end of a soccer field to another. Gulf shrugs nonchalantly.)

He goes back and plays soccer with them the next week. He manages to return with more than several bruises and cuts over his legs, which Mew is careful not to bump into.

It’s not  _ kaprao _ this time (thankfully), and Gulf relates even more stories to Mew between bites of noodles. They're mostly the adventures of Gulf and his sidekick Duan.

In fact, Duan's with them at the moment, peering up at them from where she's nestled in a sling bag Gulf made. The younger man's taken to sneaking the kitten into every restaurant they go to, and always asks Mew's advice before feeding Duan bits of his food.

The restaurant they're at today is one Mew used to be a regular at, though Gulf hadn’t known. He used to visit with Chopper, since the owner would let the puppy run around freely. He's not about to tell that to Gulf and his little cat sling bag though.

Mew misses Chopper, but Gulf reminds him of a little stray cat. He'll wander off sometimes but he'll be there for Mew at the end of the day and Mew loves that. Today it's slices of boiled carrot, which Duan has been nibbling on at an alarmingly quick rate. For a stray kitten, she’s grown plenty comfortable around them both. 

Sometimes it feels like Mew's the one that's taken in a stray cat, the way Gulf's taken to hanging around the university and his studio.

Mew thanks the fact that Gulf isn't super sociable, doesn't wander around the university and talk to the people there. It's not like Mew has anything to hide, but he doesn't want Gulf to talk to those people and have his view of Mew change, in unknown circumstances and situations, in a place where Mew cannot defend himself. He's already resigned to their judgement, but Gulf - he doesn't think he can stand it if Gulf ever found out.

Gulf is so straightforward and honest and genuine with his feelings and responses to things, Mew doesn't think he could take it if Gulf suddenly turned to him with a look of disgust. Because Gulf is such a comfortable presence for Mew, he doesn't want to lose it.

It's okay, because Gulf doesn't wander from him.

Lounging next to the open window, cat lying asleep on his slight stomach as the wind whistles gently through the waves of his hair. Not that Mew's complaining - these two stray kittens have padded their ways into his life and made a new home for them and for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- ummm if you notice anything weird with magic/engineering details...it's bc idk engineering and idk magic (duh :P)  
> \- anyways enjoy!!

Mild comes over to visit during the weekend. He comes, as usual, with a copious amount of filled floral eco-shopping bags, and the surprising lack of a tall, lanky shadow.

"Gulf's visiting relatives this weekend," Mew averts his eyes awkwardly, "though I know you probably wanted to see him more than me." Mew opens his mouth, the beginnings of a rejection on his tongue, but the knowing looks from his mother and Mild shut him up. Sometimes the sassy energy Mild channels syncs with his mother's far too eerily for his liking.

"Ah, before I forget. Here's some shrimp paste, just made it the other day." Mew accepts the bag gratefully. He's about to put the contents into the fridge, but when he reaches into the bag, a little sudden pressure around his fingers - like a gentle bite - scares him. He immediately fishes his hand out of the bag to find a Folded cat head gnawing on his index finger. Its chiyogami, gold-flecked eyes stare innocently back at Mew even as its tongue lolls endearingly out the side of its mouth.

Mild sees it.

"That little brat!" He chuckles, "Can't believe he took the time to Fold that when he barely gave himself enough time to pack."  _ Gulf _ . Of course it is.

Mild plucks the origami gently from Mew's finger and examines it with keen eyes. It bares tiny teeth at Mild and gives a sharp hiss. 

"Wow, not bad." Then, to Mew and his mom. "That nong absorbs like a sponge, I tell you."

Mew's mom nods - she's got a soft spot for the young apprentice - and the conversation drifts off to how Mild has finally convinced Gulf to break the streak of _ kaprao _ dinners they've been having.

Mew takes a closer look at the Folded cat head as they converse. It’s a delicate piece of origami, and just a touch gruesome. He can see the similarities between it and some of the cats at the market. Somehow Gulf has been studying whilst having fun petting cats at the market.

The origami cat gives a wide, life-like yawn. Mew smiles. It's pretty realistic.  _ Good job, Gulf. _

Being a collector of trinkets, Mew of course has to keep the little Folded cat head. He ignores the knowing glance Mild gives him as he slips it carefully into his jacket pocket, making sure not to crumple it. The origami cat piece finds a space on his bedside table. The next time she's in his room cleaning,  _ khun Nok _ gives him another knowing glance (people seem to be doing that a lot nowadays).

When Mew returns from the studio the next day he finds a little Gaffed glass cover placed carefully over the piece of origami, and the cat head has been tilted to exactly face his pillows.

The little Gaffed glass cover is even enchanted not to knock over - trust  _ khun Nok _ to think of the smallest of details. Left to his own devices, Mew would have probably knocked it over as he reached to turn off his alarm the very next morning.

It's all very cute. Mew likes it.

* * *

Gulf doesn't outright talk about his apprenticeship a lot. Mew had thought the worst and assumed that Gulf was unhappy with his apprenticeship. Apparently, Gulf just doesn't talk a lot about it unless specifically prompted.

According to Gulf, he just Folds a lot of things, Mild looks at it, and tells him if he did good or not.

("Is that it?" Mew had asked.

"Well, it's an apprenticeship." Gulf says, looking unsure, and Mew leaves it at that.)

Mild’s account of it is a little more detailed. They apparently assigned Gulf to Mild because finding a paper magician that could keep up with the amount of raw magical energy Gulf has is difficult. And even though Mild is looked down upon in some circles for having  _ that _ much talent yet choosing to become a teacher, he was pretty well known for having as much magical energy as he is boisterous (which is quite a lot). The way Mild speaks of it, though, makes it sound like he’d known of Gulf and had been fond of him even before the apprentice assignments. It’s unusual, but Mew doesn’t think more of it - given what had happened last time, they probably owed it to Mild.

Mild spends half his time at the elementary school in the district, and the other half completing commissions. Mew respects him - not only is he outrageously talented at Folding living things, he’s good with kids. Mew’s only been to the elementary school once or twice to visit, and he's seen how rowdy those kids are. It's where Gulf spends his afternoons, Mild tells him, but Mew has trouble imagining how calm, lazy, cat-like Gulf keeps up with the children.

"Gulf plays with the kids while I do admin work, they usually play soccer." Mild explains, then his expression turns sneaky, "You should come by sometime. Help nong out with the kids."

"Sure." Mew says. Maybe he will drop by soon.

* * *

The scent of incense in the temple air is strong, and Mew takes a deep breath of it, as if it’ll refresh his lungs. He’s on a visit to the temple with his family at his own request - it's not like his research is going badly by any means, but he's been running through and sifting through the same few ideas and he feels like he needs something to happen. He needs a catalyst.

("The lucky colour shirts not working well enough, phi?" Gulf had teased him.

Mew groans.

"I hope you step in dog shit when you wear black next Friday."

_ Gulf had stepped into nong Duan’s shit instead. Mew cackles as he sends Gulf a tip for getting cat shit off shoes. _ )

Mew answers work when he's asked what he wants luck for, and he's given a set of firecrackers. He's not a big fan of anything fire-related that isn't his Smelting or fancy firework displays, but it's for his work. There're lottery numbers on the firecrackers, and he takes a careful photo, sending it over to Gulf. He's barely tucked the phone away in his pocket before it's ringing. Mew can't help the way the corner of his lips curls up as Gulf appears on the screen, hair fluffy and lips puffy. 

"It's two in the afternoon." Mew points out, and video-call-Gulf groans, hugging a bear plushie closer to him.

_ "Exactly, phi. I was supposed to wake up at five." _ This statement is accentuated by an adorable pout and thank god this is video-call-Gulf and not real-Gulf because otherwise Mew wouldn't be able to resist directly feeling that pout.

Gulf raises an arm above him in an obnoxiously large stretch.

_ "Anyways, phi. What is this?" _

"Lottery numbers. I'm at the temple today."

_ "Lottery numbers, phi?"  _ Gulf squints at his screen with bleary eyes,  _ "I do lotteries though. I'll pass the numbers to p'Mild. Thank you anyways na phi." _

"No worries, _nong._ Now go back to sleep, sorry for waking you up."

(A few days later, Mew and Mild meet up for coffee in between work. Mild pulls out a losing lottery ticket with the same numbers Mew had beamed Gulf, then proceeds to chastise him on crappy lottery numbers:

_ Oi, why didn't you text me about the lottery numbers? _

_ Didn't know if you wanted them? _

_ Didn't know if I wanted them my ass. You just wanted to text your Yai Nong. _

Mew colours but doesn't reply.

He gets another round of scolding when Mild tells him he got  _ none _ of the numbers right.)

* * *

Gulf seems to be popping up everywhere in his life, even in his classroom. Mew's listening attentively in his  _ Performance Improvement Management _ class when he sees "Gulf of evaluation" flash up on the screen. The edge of his lip curls up and he raises his phone subtly to snap a quick picture before he can stop himself. Then he pauses.

Though Gulf hangs out in his university studio, he hasn't had any contact with anyone from Mew's department or academic world. At least to his knowledge. And Mew would like to keep it that way. To think about Gulf in his classroom - Mew chastises his brain.  _ This is going too far. _ It’s an irrational connection he’s making, from a mundane thought to something decidedly more depressing, but sometimes Mew  _ is _ emotional and sometimes Mew  _ is _ irrational.

After all, Mew hasn’t had the best luck with his previous relationships, particularly when they had come into contact with his academics. In his relationships, he’d been scolded (the kind that sounded teasing but was all too real) for reading on dates, spending too much time in his studio, or even humming while working (though to be honest, Mew hummed while he did everything). 

Anyways it feels like a wake-up call - Mew can't be with Gulf, he just can't, it doesn't make sense. The friendship he's cultivated with Gulf won't mix with his academic world, just as none of his relationships do, and to let it even approach that territory is dangerous. Mew knows better. He's  _ learnt _ to know better.

In that moment all he can think about is the memories of getting rejected, getting cheated on, being judged by the very person who is supposed to love him. It’s a cycle, and he's falling into it all over again. All because of some stupid “gulf of evaluation”. What kind of concept is that, anyways?

_ It can't be like this _ , Mew tells himself. Clutches his hand into a fist. His only modus operandi is  _ don't get hurt again please please please _ .  _ Please. _

His friendship with Gulf is in a small world of his own, and beyond those boundaries he will not allow it to escape.

* * *

After Love had left him (or rather he’d left her, though it didn’t feel that way), Mew had entered a stage of depression, but once that'd turned into a lingering undertone that coloured his days, he turned, quite predictably, to drinks and flings.

He was on the search, except he wasn't quite sure what he was searching for. 

He'd find someone at the bar, chat them up, see some traits he liked, and take them home. He'd take them on something like a trial run - a few dates, wining and dining - until they inevitably fell for the broody, mysterious man who was hiding a passionate sensitive side.

But that was when the illusion broke for him. He'd wake up one day and decide that his current lover was not quite what he wanted, so he'd break up with them. Then the cycle started all over again.

News of that had somehow spread to his university. Previously he’d been known as that intellectual, sensitive, yet outgoing young man who had a promising career in Industrial Smelting that could potentially go international. The fuckboy reputation certainly hadn't harmed that, just made him all the more desirable.

It didn't do anything for Mew, though. On the flip side, he threw himself into his studies and what he thought was love (because he always thought it was) with even greater passion.

Except some things had definitely changed. He could no longer stand it when his smaller lovers expressed their love for cute things, because he felt some degree of jealousy in his heart, like by the power of their inherent stature they had acquired something that society dictated Mew couldn't have. 

Though he knew this was a problem, he just wasn't sure how to cope, and wasn't sure how to find out. His way wasn't the right way, but it's not like Google knew the answer to  _ how to deal with being jealous of your lovers because they're small and cute and can therefore like small and cute things whilst you can't _ . A convoluted question, but Mew had always been an overthinker.

Of course, the next relationship that had ended this cycle had made it all better. Perhaps it wasn't exactly right to say it was better, but a weight was briefly taken off his chest, and he had relished in that feeling of lightness.

* * *

The temple visit seems to work. Mew’s made some breakthroughs in his work. Funnily enough, the thought comes to him not in the studio, but at the park, watching a family fly enchanted paper airplanes. Then he realises abruptly - what material is so light, so light it can fly without an engine? Paper!

A plane is an inanimate object, and Mew remembers Mild telling him that that'd been Gulf's specialty. He'll have to ask Gulf about it when he comes back. The younger's still away because his parents had missed him and he's taking a week off the internship. Mild had agreed because he knew how important family is to Gulf, and he had told Mew (even though Mew had claimed he didn't need to) because he knew how important Mew is to Gulf. (Mew tries not to think about the everpresent, knowing glint in Mild's eyes these days.)

Alexander the Folded bookmark man does a lot more work as Mew unearths books about Folding magic and how it might relate to Smelting. Mew likes to think he keeps him company in Gulf’s steed, sitting on a book with his legs swinging as Mew pores over more and more books, and searching for any mentions of Folding in his own.

He makes a long-overdue journey to the library and picks up a few books about all sorts of magic, just to see what he can find. He very firmly ignores the hushed whispers that still follow him around campus. Frankly Mew's relieved to find that he just doesn't care much for what they think of him anymore.

_ I'm in a better place _ , he admits to himself. Then repeats it again for good measure, and to feel the happy warmth that spreads in his chest.  _ I'm in a better place. _

The whispers of the people at the library counter matter less than they usually do, and the way the receptionist's nails click against her phone more rapidly as he walks past? None of his business.

Mew's not ashamed to admit that some of that is because of Gulf, but he's not quite ready for the more important part, which is to think about what Gulf means to him. He convinces himself he'll think about it later, when he's finished with his work. He'll do it when Gulf comes back, when he asks the younger to help him out with his project. He'll do it then.

* * *

Gulf walks into their first work session in a navy blue shirt on a Friday. Normally, Mew wouldn't have any qualms about it - he's not one to push his beliefs onto other people - but today is project day. Call him a perfectionist, because that's exactly what he is.

"Your shirt, yai nong." Mew admonishes, and Gulf looks down at his shirt. Then back up, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted.

"What's wrong with my shirt, phi?"

Then the look of realization.

"Aow, it's the colour, right?"

Gulf chuckles, and Mew waits silently for the sneer to reach Gulf's face, for the jabbing comment about the pure idiocy of buying into the whole auspicious colour thing. What he does not expect is for Gulf to easily pull his shirt over his head.

"Sorry, phi. Can I borrow a shirt for now?"

Mew gives him a sweater, this one a creamy pastel pink, and Gulf pulls it over his head. Mew tries not to follow the tan expanse of his skin as it disappears under the fabric.

"Is it okay?" The length of the sweater is good, but the fabric is a little loose on Gulf's lithe frame, and the sleeves hang halfway down his palms. Gulf gives a dubious look at his sleeve, the edge of it clutched between his fingers, and pouts. The sweater paws are so strong. So strong. Mew's gonna die like this, at the mercy of one Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong's sweater paws. And he's not mad about it.

Mew has to admit that this fit looks pretty good on Gulf. Or maybe it's just the fact that Gulf is wearing something of his. He's enjoying both of those things.

"Look phi, we match." 

Mew had always liked couple outfits. It was that inherent sense of possession he always felt coupled with just the aesthetic of it all. Love hadn’t been a believer in all his auspicious tendencies, but had gone along with it sometimes, when it suited her. She had always enjoyed a cute couple outfit.

The apprentice, on the other hand, just hadn't really cared about it. When he thinks about it, there's a pattern - they liked the couple outfits, but didn't care very much for other auspicious things and how they mattered to Mew. 

It'd been sad, honestly. The apprentice had liked it when Mew's taste in Folded and Gaffed trinkets meant Mew bought him nice things. Because he was small and he was allowed to be cute. He definitely wouldn't buy the same things for Mew. All his presents had felt like they had an ulterior motive - they were almost always exclusively made of leather. Which Mew does appreciate - a good leather jacket never hurt nobody, and he is a fan of the bad boy aesthetic. But leather keychains and tchotchkes just don't have the same ephemeral feel that Mew loved from his Folded butterflies and birds. Folding is just different.

_ It really is _ , Mew thinks as he watches Gulf work. They'd had a quick discussion earlier: Mew had drawn up some parts he felt could benefit from a paper prototype as Gulf had examined with keen eyes. With his usual honesty, Gulf shoots down a couple of his ideas, pointing out issues that would arise in the Folding process that Mew hadn't been aware of. He suggests some ideas too, and overall it's a more fruitful discussion that Mew had expected.

It's interesting to discuss his ideas with a Folder. Mew's university is a pretty big university, so he never really gets a chance to discuss his ideas with other magic practitioners. Gulf, though not a seasoned Folder, is knowledgeable enough to give some critiques, but enough of a fresh hand to continuously blurt out opinions that leave Mew surprised but curious.

Gulf asks Mew if he’s ever considered putting enchantments into the airplane. Mew shoots that idea down a little too quickly: after all, it's a fundamental rule in Plane Smelting that carving enchantments into airplane metal would disrupt the physics of it all. Over-enchantment just isn't good for physics.

"No, phi," Gulf insists, "I mean...it doesn't have to be carvings, right? And it doesn't have to be an entire piece of metal?" Gulf explains that this has to do with the composite metals Mew mentioned using. With enough minute detailing and traces of really enchanted metal in less enchanted bits, Gulf explains, he thinks enchantments could be used despite physics. 

Gulf's Folding is also as exemplary as Mild always describes it. It's got a roughness and honesty to it, characteristic of Gulf, but it works. The prototypes Gulf Folds up are mostly not that useful - because Mew's work is mostly lots of trial and error - but Mew makes significant progress with Gulf's help. It'll probably take a long, long time for Mew to finish this project, but it's his first year in his pHD program. He has time.

* * *

"It's been a while since the boys have come out for some dinner, hasn't it?" Boom says cheerfully, swinging one arm over Mew and the other over Mild. It’s a weekend night and Mew is relieved to see Boom is as cheerful as he always is, despite it having been a while since he’s seen the other man.

It really has been a while.

"To be invited by Khun Mew? And it's not a bar?" Boom sighs dramatically, "I'm honoured."

Mew mock-slaps him across the head, and Mild lets out a loud laugh.

"So shut up and be appreciative." He teases back. 

They're at a K-BBQ place, perfect for good food and good company. They order a couple types of meat (some Jeju black pig samgyeopsal, galbi, a little moksal), a couple bottles of soju (the strawberry one is Mew's favourite) and get to it.

Trust Mild to introduce Gulf to the conversation as well.

"I have a new apprentice." Mild chimes in excitedly. They're on their second order of soju and the grill is blackening. Boom's cheeks are stuffed with some well-grilled bulgogi and his face is a very clear expression of  _ So what? _

"We were discussing Mew's love life though."

"Ah, but this has  _ everything _ to do with the topic at hand, my friend." Mew averts his eyes as if that magically absolves him from participating. Mild, on the other hand, pointedly eyes Mew out of the corner of his eyes, lets the dramatic pause take effect, then announces (practically to the whole restaurant): "Our nong Mew has been hanging out with my sweet little apprentice a lot recently. Like  _ a lot _ ."

"A lot, huh?" Boom's voice is teasing.

"Like whenever my apprentice isn't at the school I'm a hundred and ten percent sure he's with Mew." It isn't untrue, so Mew doesn't say anything. He refuses to dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Oh my god Mew, another apprentice?" Boom says half-heartedly. Understandably, his tone is a little admonishing, and Mild almost chokes on a swig of beer. Mew's about to reply when the food arrives.

He isn't quite sure how he would have responded anyway.

* * *

Mew loves metal, he really does, but some moments he wonders what it would be like to be a Gaffer, or a Folder. He would have never gone against his family's wishes, never, but it's always fun to wonder, to dream about all the paths his life could have taken. Mew doesn't regret his choices, and Smelting has been good to him. Plus, Gaffing is cool, but the metaphysics behind portals and other spaces? As atrocious and difficult as it sounds

In contrast to the reputations of most Smelters, Mew would say he's quite...soft, for lack of a better word. He regularly visits museums with exhibits on Folding, because there's just something irresistibly delicate and beautiful about that form of magic. He'd always been drawn to the softer, more ephemeral forms of magic after all.

He loves his Smelting now, but there was definitely a time when he thought he'd never learn the patience he needed to really excel at Smelting. And he's come a long way from freshman, 18-year-old Mew who had chosen to go the Smelting path out of duty to his parents, but had never imagined he could ever enjoy the cold hard edges of Smelting.

Turns out that's not what Smelting is exactly, and he's learned the ins and outs of Smelting, that there are curves to soften those hard lines and edges. It'd been a long process and a truth he'd not known the first day he stepped into Kasetsart University, Smelting Department.

Plus he was determined. And maybe he channeled too much of his patience into his academics, with the usual persistence he always had, and forgot to keep it for his personal relationships.

Mew’s always been an all-or-nothing kind of person, after all.

* * *

Their visit to Mild's elementary school is long overdue. Mild has been wheedling Mew to come back for the longest time.  _ The kids missed you _ , Mild tells him,  _ the girls want their "more handsome" phi back. _ Mild looks quite disgruntled.

_ I suppose _ , Mew had replied. It was non-committal, his usual response. It's a pretty standard working-person response - a sort-of yes that really means "when my work isn't drowning me, yes".

_ You haven't seen Gulf with the kids yet _ , Mild reminds him. And of course that would be the kicker. He hadn't entertained the thought of Gulf with kids prior to Mild's suggestion, and now he can't help but glimpse it in his head. Gulf, reading storybooks to the kids. Gulf, playing tag with the kids. Yes, Mew would very much like to see it.

Damn. Trust Mild to put the best and the worst ideas into his head.

And of course, once Mew gets an idea in his head he can't get rid of it. So a week later finds Gulf, Mild and Mew at a street restaurant near Mild's school, grabbing some lunch before they accompany Mild back.

Mew and Mild collectively wheedle Gulf into not getting kaprao again, and he settles for a plate of  _ somtam _ . 

Mild teases the both of them, as he always does. 

"You sure you get any work done at the studio with all that eye candy?" Mild teases Gulf, winking obnoxiously at Mew.

Mew pretends not to hear but his eyes are entirely focused on Gulf, fixated on the way the tips of his ears turn red.

"Of course I did. I'm a good boy, phi."

Gulf's claim of being a "good boy" really should not affect Mew as much as it does.

Gulf looks out the window for most of the trip. It harks back to the Gulf Mew had first gotten introduced to, quiet, sort of spacey. Car rides with Gulf have evolved into a constant, easy stream of banter. Mew chalks it up to his mood - Gulf's been a little spacey recently.

Mild fills up the space between them with a nonstop flow of updates about the kids. Mew remembers quite a few of them: nong Book who's a lot more inclined to kick a ball on the field, boisterous _nong_ Arm and shy little _nong_ Jade.

They turn into the school at one. The post-lunch lazy energy hasn't gotten to the kids, because they're enthusiastic when they see the trio at the gates. The kids bombard Gulf with hugs, then see Mew, recognise him, and bombard him with hugs too.

Mild's classroom is as Mew remembers it, decorated fully with paper, from Folded decorations to toys. There are new animated crayon drawings on the wall - _nong_ Arm drags him over to it excitedly once they enter.

"P'Mew, look! This is mommy, this is daddy, and this is me!" The messy crayon figures wave back at him.

"Wow, _nong_ Arm should become an artist! This is really nice." Arm looks very proud.

"P'Gulf helped me!" Arm gestures for Mew to come closer and tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

"P'Gulf draws waaaaaay better than teacher Mild." Mew nods in a mock-serious fashion.

"i'll remember that."

" _Alai wa?_ What did I just hear?" 'Teacher Mild' sneaks up behind them, giving little Arm one second of reprieve before he rushes in with the tickles.

"N-no, p'Mild!" Arm squeals, "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it! Stooooooop!"

Gulf joins in and they make up a whole impromptu scenario about Gulf being the knight protecting prince Arm from fierce dragon Mild. It's a swashbuckling story with Gulf's plastic-plate-slash-knightly-shield and Mild's very terrible impression of a dragon. All the kids join in - _nong_ Book is the magician, shy little _nong_ Jade is the princess, _nong_ James is the pirate - it makes absolutely no sense and that's the best part of it.

Mew is assigned the role of royal guard, and he and _nong_ Arm giggle as they watch Gulf and Mild battle to the death with hastily-folded paper swords.

It's so fun, and it's wondrous to see the way Gulf seamlessly fits in.

They tire of the excessively complicated story eventually. They end up running around with the children in the tennis court. Gulf brings out his infamous paper planes, and he and a couple of the children have a bit of a competition. Mild busts out his own enchanted kites, and Mew piggybacks _nong_ Book as they release the kite into the sky.

Then, when they tire of all sort of physical activity, they go back to the classroom. Mew joins _nong_ Arm for a quick nap before they start doing some crafting activities. On the other side of the room Gulf has a little girl curled up on his lap. Her pigtails are tied high with pastel pink ribbons and there are pink glasses on the bridge of her button nose. Appropriately, they're reading a Peppa Pig book.

Gulf is scrunching up his nose and making "oink oink" noises, and the girl's giving a shy giggle.

For a brief moment, Gulf meets Mew's eyes from across the room and gives him a heart-shaped smile.

* * *

For all Gulf's claims of being a 'good boy' over lunch, he doesn't keep to it for very long, because it's not long before he realizes he's left his phone at the studio. He  _ ngors _ Mew into bringing him back, though Mew isn't sure Gulf knows he's  _ ngor _ -ing.

The traffic on the way back is pretty smooth by Bangkok standards, so it only makes sense that as they near the university, it begins pouring. And it's not just rain pouring, as they quickly find out, but a full blown typhoon.

"It'll stop soon, right  _ phi _ ?" Gulf says, peering out at the grey clouds. Mew looks out of his side just as a tree on the side of the road gets blown down. It sure doesn't seem like anything is stopping anytime soon.

Mew tries to map out the shortest route from his parking space to the building's entrance, which is futile. There's no way to get there without being beaten down by wind and rain. Then he hears the car door open.

Gulf's stepping out of the car briskly.

"Gulf? What're you doing?" Mew half-shouts, clambering over the passenger's seat to see Gulf just standing there in the rain and the wind, _nong_ Duan curled up safely in the pocket of his hoodie.

"Just enjoying the rain, _phi_. Come join me!"

" _Alai wa?_ _ Nong _ , I don't think..." Mew can't find an answer, "What about  _ nong  _ Duan?"

" _ Nong _ Duan is fine,  _ phi _ . Look!" He pulls back a bit of fabric to reveal the grey tabby nestled comfortable and dry into Gulf's hoodie, the young man slouched so that she's completely shielded from the rain.

"Come join us, _ phi! _ Anyway, there's no way we're getting back without getting wet." Even in the wake of strongs winds and heavy rain, Gulf looks like the picture of peace as he looks up, squinting as drops land on his face and cling to his hair. Like how Mew imagines water sprites would look like, if they existed.

Reluctantly, defying every bit of logic in his being, Mew slides out of the passenger seat to join Gulf, stand shoulder to shoulder in the eye of the typhoon. Hm. He does see the appeal in the almost rhythmic way the rain falls onto their heads and shoulders, a steady beat to accompany the constant  _ thud-thud _ of his heart.

_ Nong _ Duan purrs.

They eventually make their way back to the department building, ducking under trees as if that'll help. The front door's locked so they sneak in through the back, laughing and slapping each other's shoulders and feeling for all the world like mischievous delinquents.

They almost slip on their own too-wet shoes, and shiver at the ongoing blasts of aircon inside the building.

"It doesn't look like it's going to stop, phi." Gulf says, peering out the window. Mew takes one look, and yep - he can barely make out anything beyond a kilometre's distance from the window behind the heavy, ongoing sheet of rain.

"I guess we're staying here for the night." Mew says, pulling out a mattress and some blankets. Thank Buddha for his mom's instincts.

When he turns around to find a place for the mattress, Gulf is staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Doraemon?" He says, mimicking the way Mew has just pulled this gigantic mattress out of seemingly nowhere, and Mew breaks into laughter, punctured by an occasional, strong shiver.

Getting dry is a clear first priority. Mew and Gulf dry themselves off using bedsheets as towels, backs turned to each other. Gulf makes a point of saving the pillow cover for  _ nong  _ Duan, who is mewing quietly in complaint but is otherwise content to lie lax and let them take care of her.

They squeeze in under the covers, two grown men sleeping on a mattress in a university studio with no bedsheets and no pillowcases. Initially they're sleeping back to back, and Mew stares emptily at an empennage prototype he'd been working on as he gives another full-bodied shiver.

" _Aow_ , phi. You're so cold even though today's weather is so hot?"

Gulf takes Mew's silence as the go-ahead to tease him, poking the side of his abs gently.

"Is that why you're always wearing long sleeves, _phi_? Could it be that big brave p'Mew is scared of the cold?" Mew grumbles, turns around to see Gulf staring at him mischievously, _nong_ Duan half-hidden by the pillow cover in his arms.

"Maybe. But then why does _nong_ Gulf enjoy wearing my sweaters so much? Does _nong_ Gulf get cold easily too?"

Gulf gives him a sleepy smile.

"Maybe."

A moment of silence washes across them. But sleepy Gulf is apparently also talkative Gulf.

"Your bedsheets are cute _na, khun phi_." Gulf whispers. He’s poking at the one  _ nong  _ Duan is curled up in. The bedsheets have Ryan on them, and Mew is quite proud of them, "I wouldn't have expected it from phi, but now that I look at it..."

There's a moment of silence as Gulf yawns.

"It suits you, phi."

"Suits me how?"

"Because p'Mew is like a bear. Kinda intimidating but you're actually soft and cuddly. It doesn't seem like it makes sense but it does."

"Ryan isn't a bear, he's a lion _krub_. And I'm not intimidating, just soft and...cuddly, I guess."

"Then come be soft and cuddly with me, p'Mew." Gulf says, turning back around and staring back at Mew expectantly.

Mew places a tentative on Gulf's waist. It's a small waist, he muses, curves in just the right way to accommodate Mew's hand. It's strange but it feels so right.

Napping, and by proxy spooning, becomes a habit. It just so happens that Gulf likes curling up on his side when he sleeps, making it all too perfect for Mew to slip in, curl an arm around his waist and stop thinking about his work for a moment. Sometimes Mew rests a hand on Gulf’s stomach, feels him breathe in and out, and feels at ease.

* * *

Both Mew and Gulf end up with colds, because _ that's what happens when you go frolicking in the rain. _ ("It wasn't frolicking", Mew protests, but the look Mild gives him shuts him up quick.)

" _ Ai koon chai _ , why did you have to get sick the week nobody's home?" _ The maids are home, _ Mew wants to say, but knows that's an excuse that'll get him an earful.

He hadn't even told his parents - he's not about to destroy their time in Japan, especially with how rare his father gets a break from his business.

It was nice that Mild had dropped by. After all, he was running out of Mild's signature honey ginger lemon slices (which the other man always brought over whenever Mew was sick), and he wanted an update on how Gulf was doing. After all, the apprentice was reticent but a fast texter, and it seemed out of sorts that Gulf hadn't replied to his most recent texts.

Besides, Mild had insisted on dropping by - Mild had been the one to text him first, and Mew doesn't bother asking how Mild had known, he'd just accepted it at some point that Mild  _ always  _ knew. He'd even informed Mew, very matter-of-factly, that Gulf had woken up, had about two bites of soup, then proceeded to knock out again. There's a bag slung across his shoulders and a stack of books in his hands, Alexander sitting proudly on top of them. There are more paper cuts on Mild's hands than usual.

"This one really defended the books well." Mild grumbles, settling everything down on Mew's bedside table. The origami cat head, now affectionately nicknamed  _ Tawan _ , rouses at the smell of an intruder. It hisses.

"Not you too!" Mew lets out a hoarse laugh and half-chokes at the force of it.

"Careful, careful," Mild rushes over to pat him on the back and thrusts his cup at him, "ooh, honey ginger lemon."

"It's the one you made." Mew says by way of explanation, and a brief confusion flashes across Mild's face before it's replaced by one of knowing.

"Ah, the one _nong_ asked me to make." Mew must look confused, because Mild elaborates. Apparently Gulf had texted Mild for Mew's favourite recipe and instructions for making it. Mild being Mild had immediately realized that this had the potential for turning out very, very ugly. (As were most situations where Gulf was allowed a knife.)

And of course he'd been right. Mild had rushed home to find Gulf running a finger under the tap, having cut himself whilst attempting to slice a lemon. Predictably, Mild had taken over and had very swiftly (and without incurring any injuries) proceeded to take over the entire business, relegating Gulf to ingredient-mixing. Their collective effort made a jar of honey ginger lemon slices for Gulf to bring over the next morning.

"That _nong_ lacks self-awareness sometimes." Mild tuts. 

Mew sips at his honey ginger lemon, and says nothing more.

* * *

They're playing with the cat in Mew's studio when Gulf suddenly says "Tell me more about Chopper". It takes Mew a few seconds to regain his full senses - he's surprised Gulf even remembered the name.

"Chopper, huh." It's been a long time since Mew had talked about him.

"Chopper was the cutest dog ever. He used to have black-ish fur but it turned to brown when he got older. His eyes were always so big, though. Like marbles. And he was super fluffy."

"He sounds cute, phi. Very cuddly."

"I gave Chopper the most hugs, I think," Mew admits, "even more than I gave my mom and sister."

Chopper had been a great source of comfort for Mew, especially after _ that _ ex. He'd always felt safe and loved in the fact that Chopper always loved him the most, with that unconditional and unwavering loyalty that Mew couldn't seem to find in people anymore. Chopper was always a little snippy towards strangers, especially with Mew’s lovers, and in retrospect, perhaps his little guardian was trying to warn him of tumultuous waters ahead.

Chopper died around the time that the other apprentice broke up with Mew. It was funny, how fate worked. Mew had found it a little harder to believe in it since then. Because Fate had thrown a stone at Mew, and boy had it hit his two birds. His relationship and the one he loved the most had disappeared from his life in a snap, and Mew had been none the wiser until the ground was falling away beneath his feet.

"I was going through some things at the time, and Chopper really helped me. But then one day, he just - " Mew can't bring himself to finish his sentence, can't bring himself to talk about it, because he never has, "It just wasn't the same without him."

Gulf doesn't say anything, just rests a hand on Mew's shoulder. It's a light touch, but it's so comforting that Mew almost leans into it and lets himself cry.

* * *

Mew feels like he's missing something. It's that unsettling feeling of there being something very wrong. and not understanding exactly why you're feeling that way.

It's Gulf. It always is, isn't it? He's become so used to the younger as a constant in his life. But recently, the apprentice has all but disappeared, with talk of extended-nap-times and mysterious private, solo study sessions.  _ It's just my apprenticeship, phi. Don't worry _ . Yet Mew couldn't help but do exactly that.

Perhaps Mild is overworking Gulf? Concerned for his _nong_ , he hints to Mild that he should be easy on Gulf. However, Mild appears very visibly confused. He says he's been giving Gulf the same work as usual, and if anything, Gulf should be freer because he's getting really fast at the tasks Mild assigns him to.

"Your little boyfriend learns insanely quickly."

That reminds Mew. He shouldn’t be concerned about it. He should be proud. Even though it feels like Gulf is slipping away from his grasp for reasons unknown, he’s still flourishing at his internship, and if the aunties at the market are anything to go by, still as happy and chipper as usual. This is for the better. Gulf isn't his boyfriend, not at all. To feel this level of concern, this level of  _ possession _ \- Mew just can't.

Maybe Gulf knows what Mew needs, even if Mew hasn't realized it until now. Maybe this distance, this mysterious chasm that has grown between them - maybe it’s what Mew needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter! come over, join me on twitter, and show some love ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this was originally part of an even longer chapter but no one wants a 10k chapter, right??  
> \- this isn't beta-read so it's probably rife with mistakes  
> \- rest assured i shall fix them soon  
> \- also don't be mad w mew in this universe - he's just been through so much he doesn't know what to think  
> \- way more emotionally constipated than real mew haha  
> \- pls enjoy!

Mew is very pleasantly surprised when Gulf asks him out. It really has been a while since they've had lunch or really spent any time together.

Gulf sends him an address to a museum - one Mew hasn't been to before, which is surprising considering Mew's been to nearly every museum on this side of the country. It's quite a small museum - they don't have any social media, and don't pop up unless you search really hard on Google. Makes sense. Gulf says he'd found them while he was doing some research.

It's one of those in-the-wall, world-of-mouth places, which always have a quaint sort of charm to them. Mew is excited.

The museum is a neat little establishment, small but polished-looking. It has a lot of those "don't touch" habitats, with live, Folded creatures of every sort. Gulf, of course, completely breaks that rule, leaning over to pet the Folded penguins, letting the Folded tiger butterflies rest on his wavy locks, and bringing Mew's wrist closer to the exhibits so that a little Folded cat can lick his finger. Duan the real cat bares her tiny teeth. They've grown a little.

Gulf even takes notes. There're diagrams of all sorts of animals - slugs (the kind that appear after rain), tree frogs - a pomeranian? Gulf claps the notebook shut before Mew can see any more.

"It's my goal to be able to make something Living." Gulf explains as they take a rest on a bench, munching on overpriced chips and a tub of chocolate Häagen-Dasz. 

"Hm," Mew mumbles around a mouthful of ice-cream, "Isn't it the same as animating non-living objects?" Gulf's mouth goes wide.

"P'Mew! It's so much more difficult. So! Much!" Gulf looks half a second away from ripping his hair out. A display of indignance which is very distinctively Gulf. He goes into an entire spiel which Mew's academic, study-oriented brain summarises as follows:

  1. It's difficult.
  2. Mild is really good at it and he makes it look easy
  3. But the mechanics and the Folding techniques and the enchantments are Incredibly Difficult
  4. _P'Mew, pay attention! It's really difficult!_



"Wow. I thought your specialty was inanimate Folding, but that was a very strong rant." Mew teases. Gulf looks like he's about to say something, but opts for a pout instead.

"It's just difficult na phi."

After their break they tackle the plants section. This adventure is made all the more amusing because of the plant Gulf had destroyed with his soccer ball in the earliest stages of their relationship.

"You think this one would be easy for you to destroy?" Mew asks with a cocky smile, pointing out a robust-looking cactus.

"Aow! P'Mewwww..."

"Tell me the truth, Gulf. Are you researching so you can try and fix the plant again?" 

"I-I mean, kinda?" Mew tries to press further but Gulf's lips are sealed. Strange.

* * *

A few weeks ago Mew would have said Gulf probably likes him, and for him to even admit that possibility would have been a lot. But now, he's not so sure - Gulf's been more distant recently, and no matter how much he racks his brain, Mew can't figure out why.

Gulf hasn't been to the university studio that much recently, citing exhaustion from his apprenticeship. Just a lot to catch up on, phi, he tells Mew. And that's not bad, because now Mew focuses extra hard on his work. Really.

And when Gulf does turn up, his eye bags are dark.

 _Are you sure you haven't just been playing ROV?_ Mew asks.

 _No. But did you know I have three stars on Conqueror now?_ Gulf says. Mew is suitably offended and proceeds to badger Gulf with strategy questions.

The point is that Gulf seems to be straying further and further from him day by day. Not that it's an issue, because it shouldn't be an issue. After all, Mew has already convinced himself that he and Gulf, even if they were in a situation where they liked each other and were engaging in very frustrating mutual pining, could never be together.

So why is he in turmoil over the idea of Gulf falling out of like with him, when he had never even been sure of Gulf liking him in the first place?

* * *

When he's busy and in one of those working frenzies, his usually impeccable routine gets cut down significantly. No skincare, no 8-hour sleep, no meals with the family. Sometimes he even drinks coffee when he's in one of those moods. 

Mew hates coffee.

Gulf, on one of the times he pops over (rare nowadays), suggests a nap. Mew says it's fine - he drowses off at his table more often than not. Not very comfortable, but he does get some sleep in.

Gulf vehemently disagrees, his voice actually becoming a little louder. Proper napping, he insists, is different from Mew putting his head on the table for five minutes.

 _Napping really works, p'Mew. Proper naps. Trust me, I take naps all the time._ His citing of personal experience in an attempt to convince Mew is cute. And it shouldn't work, except Mew is still a sucker for Gulf.

Napping becomes a habit. Now, on the rare occasion Gulf comes over, they usually end up curling up on the bare mattress, with the Ryan blanket sheets draped over them.

Mew wakes up first. He's feeling kind of groggy, but in a good way - he needed that nap, and as soon as he wakes up properly, his body will thank him for it. The sky outside is dark, the covers over him are nice and toasty, and Gulf is a firm presence in his arms. He can hear the soft in-out of Gulf's breaths in the silent studio, and can feel his chest rise and fall somewhere underneath his left arm.

He's coming to - the feeling of the mattress underneath him and the gentle softness of Gulf's skin becomes more precise. He flexes his fingers, gives a gentle yawn. Then, as he seems to regain recognition of his own body, realizes very belatedly that wow - it would appear that there is a subtle firmness between his front and Gulf's behind. _Oh, Buddha._

Mew closes his eyes, wishes this moment away. He opens them again when he finds that - nope, this is very much real. He has just woken up from a nice, cuddly nap with Gulf with a boner. Which is very awkwardly pressed. Against Gulf's backside. Gulf who is still very much asleep and hopefully will remain so for long enough for Mew to extract himself from this situation.

He closes his eyes again. _It really had to be now, didn't it?_ When the tension between him and Gulf is still present in the most burning way. Why can't he have a peaceful nap without boners? _Damn boners._

Mew removes his arm from where it's draped over Gulf, and heaves a little sigh when that bit of distance has been created between them.

Then there's the matter of his other arm, which is currently serving as Gulf's pillow as the younger man slumbers on in blissful ignorance.

Mew rolls onto his back and accidentally jostles Gulf on the way.

"Shia." He mutters. Tries to think about anything to take his mind off the situation. The auntie at the vegetable stall, the most unsexy reading he's had to do this week, nong Duan, who is rousing from her spot on the windowsill.

Gulf lets out a small noise. _Crap._

"P'Mew..." Mew just colours. He doesn't know if Gulf knows the situation he's just woken up to. Clearly the stay quiet and get out approach hadn't worked.

"Your boner doesn't bother me, phi. It's fine." This statement is said with a quiet confidence. But Gulf seems to quickly realize the innuendo that's come out of his mouth.

"I didn't mean it like that! Phi!" Now they're both blushing. "I mean..."

"Sex is just a part of life, phi." Then he furrows his brow, seems to think the better of his statement. "I mean, if you want it to be. Like, asexuality."

Mew full-on laughs. Trust Gulf to make a boner situation simultaneously more awkward and less awkward by way of his thoughtful ramblings.

"Thank you, nong. I don't think I'm asexual, but that's a good PSA."

* * *

Mew thinks he's gotten better. Apparently not, because he wakes up in the middle of the night with sweat beading his forehead and covering his chest in a light sheen. 

The scientific part of his mind immediately figures it out: it's a panic attack. He can't quite figure out why on earth he's feeling this way. He runs through all his old techniques. 

When breathing in and out slowly doesn't seem to work, he tries to read but he can't seem to focus on any of the words. He stumbles to the corner of his room, picks up his dumbbells and tries to work out as if that'll fix anything. The weights are heavy and his muscles scream. He almost drops the dumbbells on his feet.

He sits there dully for a moment. What to do. What should he do? _Oh, Buddha._

With no other foreseeable options of action, Mew stumbles into the basement. His shaky legs find their path quickly.

He almost crashes against the walls of the hallway, but catches himself at the last minute with a practiced movement. It wouldn't do to wake up any other members of the household, after all.

The box is where he'd left it last. There is no label and no mark on the box - to any outsider it would've been just a box.

Mew pries it open with trembling fingers. Pulls out the toys at the top, their well-chewed fabric soft and their plastic buttons crooked. His fingers tremble as he pulls out the pictures, glimpses the fluffy figure that inhabits them through his tears.

Mew pulls himself back into his past, both voluntarily and not, to the times after Chopper died and his ex had broken up with him. He thinks about how emotional he'd been, how bad he'd been to his family in the meantime. The way they'd stepped on glass around him. The night he'd hurtled one of Chopper's pictures from its place on the mantelpiece, with a force that had shattered even the enchanted glass. He'd hidden himself away.

Mew doesn't remember that version of himself. No, that's not it - perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Mew doesn't know how to feel like that version of himself anymore. It's good but for so long it's been what Mew has held onto. He has tethered his sense of normalcy to the most tumultuous times in his life, he realizes, and it's coming back with a vengeance.

 _Oh Buddha,_ it's been a while since he's felt like this. Maybe it's because his sense of constancy has been destroyed. It used to be the flurry of relationships, then his work, then Gulf. Maybe it's been a while since Gulf has been to the studio with him. He thinks about the way Chopper had fit into his arms, the way Gulf had felt in his arms. Sitting there curled into himself, normalcy disrupted and brain wandering, he finds himself thinking about all of his past selves, about everything he's ever lost. Mew feels like the walls are closing in upon him.

Because no matter how he's changed, the hurt feels the same. But now, that pain - it feels like it's become more a part of him rather than a parasite sucking away at bits of his life. The pain and the hurt is all still there, but it's changed, and he's all the better for it.

He just kneels there, Chopper's picture in his hands, and lets himself cry. Later in the morning Mew will feel better. But for now, it's okay to cry.

* * *

Tonight's drink is whisky. The bottle of Johnnie Walker had been Mew's contribution this time.

"I think I'm regressing." Mew confesses. The amber liquid in his glass is a poor mirror. "I had a panic attack last night."

His voice is trembling a little, and he doesn't think he can look up at Mild. It's been so long that this has happened, it feels almost shameful to be admitting to the ghosts that have returned to haunt him.

"Oh, Mew." Mild places a hand on Mew's. Mew can't look up, can't look into Mild's eyes and see the sympathy. "Do you know why?"

Mew meets Mild's eyes this time.

_I think you know why._

"How's Gulf, by the way?" Mew says. He would sound perfectly normal to an outsider, but Mild and Mew both hear that forced casualness underlying it.

He hears Mild's breath hitch, but only for a brief second.

"Gulf's good. Been doing every project I give him like he's an actual, certified Folder. Hasn't hurt himself beyond a few paper cuts." Mew breathes a little sigh of relief. "He's been playing a lot with the kitten, which - I believe he still thinks I don't know about it." Mew can't help the loud laugh that escapes him.

"She's called Duan."

"Duan, huh. Well, with the amount of grey fur I've been finding around the house, I'm not sure how your nong still thinks Duan is a secret."

Mew chuckles. So cute. He can imagine it - Gulf sneaking Duan around the house, in the pocket of his hoodie or hidden in his bag, sneakily feeding her cans of tuna in the safety of his own bedroom.

Mew looks into the night sky. There's something soothing about it tonight. The moon is bright, and it's beautiful.

"I like him." It feels so good to finally get it off his chest. The expression on Mild's face is knowing rather than surprised - how long has Mild known? How long has he watched Mew slowly fall when he'd promised himself for so long that it wouldn't happen again?

Nevertheless, it feels relieving to put something that's been unspoken for so long into actual words.

"I think he's good for you." Mild says.

"Yeah, he is." But I'm not sure if I'm good enough for him.

* * *

Mew looks at himself and sees a broken person. That's the key problem. Whenever he thinks of himself he can only think of those moments in his life where he’d messed up.

It's ingrained in him. He's such a lover that all the memories of his failed loves and the ways they had changed him have, whether he likes it or not, become a core part of him. All his break-ups broke him, and that was a fact. 

When those overthinking episodes happen it feels like everything he's ever worked in his life, all the facets of the person he's worked to become, have all be reclaimed by the dark waves of his memories. Instead of Mew the engineer, Mew the lover, he's reduced to broken pieces on the shore. And it's obvious: broken things can't fix themselves.

The only parts of him that don't break are his works, a strong creations by a weak creator. He's done his best to throw away all his sentimentality when it comes to his work. As long as he keeps making unbreakable things, he can't think about being broken.

That's the thought in Mew's mind as he throws himself into his studies for what feels like the infinite time.

* * *

Mew comes to find Mild at night. He'd texted the other saying he wanted to talk to him, but the other man had asked him to come over instead, citing work he had to do. He'd been let in by Mild's mother, and had quietly apologized for disturbing her sleep before going to look for Mild.

“Mild!” 

Mew opens the last door in the hallway to find Gulf deep in work, his nose almost pressed against the paper he’s in the midst of folding. _Strange._ He hadn't been expecting anyone to be awake at this time of night.

"P'Mew!" Gulf yelps, hands flapping frantically.

"Nong Gulf," Mew acknowledges, stepping further into Mild's study, "What're you working on?"

Gulf lets out a vaguely suffocated noise. Alarmed, Mew clutches Gulf's wrist.

"Aow, what's the matter?"

“I’m embarrassed, Phi.” Gulf admits, the tips of his ears red. Mew softens his hold on Gulf, thumb moving gently over the side of his wrist.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed by. Phi shouldn’t have forced - “

“Phi isn’t forcing me, I just - “ a little whine emerges from the back of Gulf’s throat, and he presses his lips together as he searches for words. Mew’s never seen someone so unbelievably cute. Gulf’s hands fall apart slowly to reveal a half-finished piece constructed of delicate folds and textured papers, in a shape that resembles...a dog?

Taking Mew's silence as some sort of rejection, Gulf continues: "I just saw Chopper and how sad Phi was and even though I don't know how to do any proper fancy animation and I suck at Folding living creatures I just wanted to - "

Mew interrupts his adorable, adorable ramble with a soft press of his lips. He leans back and stares into Gulf's eyes, half-searching and half-appreciative, not fully understanding the underlying intentions and meanings behind Gulf's action but wanting him to know that Mew was so, so, so thankful.

"Thank you, nong. I really appreciate it." Mew's tongue-tied all of a sudden, his usual eloquence escaping him. There are so many thoughts in his head right now. _When did Gulf learn how to do such complex Folding? Is this what Gulf has been working on the whole time?The colouring of the paper, the shape of the Folds - there's no way Gulf could've known, but did he?_

Gulf's voice breaks him out of his reverie.

"It's nothing, I wanted to make it for p'Mew but - ah! Phi was looking for P'Mild?"

Gulf sends him towards Mild's room, where the latter is very surprisingly alone, a book open on his lap. He's clearly been waiting, and there's a sly twinkle in his eye.

"So," Mild begins, "see our nong making anything cool?"

Mew covers his mouth, gives a low, disbelieving chuckle. He's still impossibly overwhelmed. 

"You knew, didn't you?"

"He's been doing that every night for the past few weeks."

"It was...it was Chopper?" Mew says hesitantly, and Mild's smile grows even wider. Like he's watching a child solve a puzzle. He does feel like a curious child - his mind can't stop wandering to what Gulf is doing in the other room.

"Is that a question or an answer?" Mild teases. 

"I don't know." Mew answers. They settle down and chat for a bit, watch a few kdrama episodes, which is what Mew had originally come for. Mew almost wants to go ask Gulf if he wants to join them, but the thoughts in his mind are still too many and too confusing. He so wants to know, but he doesn't know quite how to go about it. Even as Kim Jooyoung's daughter is finally revealed on the screen, Mew's mind is still a few doors over, in Mild's studio.

They call it quits in the early hours of the morning.

"Want to check on your nong before you leave?" Mild asks. Mew doesn't manage to get a word in edgewise before Mild is dragging him away by the edge of his sleeve.

They find Gulf asleep at the desk, drooling on a few scrap paper pieces. His eyebrows are furrowed, and Mew smooths down the wrinkles between them with his index finger.

"He's been working very hard for a long time." How long has Gulf been working on this? Mew wonders. His eyes drift from Mild back to the slumped, sleeping figure on the desk and his heart suges with warmth. He slips off his jacket and drapes it carefully over Gulf's shoulders.

"Good night." Mew whispers, and hesitates just a second before pressing his lips to the top of Gulf's head. When he straightens up, Mild is very pointedly staring towards the door, as if to give them so modicum of privacy.

Gulf returns the jacket the next morning, ears red. He looks shyly at Mew with earnest eyes, and Mew knows his cheeks are as red as Gulf's ears.

"Thank you." He says quietly.

"No, thank _you_." Mew replies, and they make no attempt to discuss the elephant in the room.

But now that he's discovered Gulf's project, the younger man can't seem to stop talking about it. It's like a dam has opened.

He's not embarrassed to work on his project in the studio, and Mew is happy to have him return. Gulf's also not embarrassed to ask Mew to show him more pictures of Chopper ("for reference, phi! And only if you don't mind."), and Mew agrees. It's been a while since he'd pulled those photos up, but the way Gulf coos over Chopper makes him wish he could've seen the two of them together. Would've been a cuteness overload.

It's a very normal day when it happens. With no fanfare, no drama, as is Gulf's way. Mew can remember exactly what they had been doing at the time: in a Japanese restaurant they'd deemed one of their regulars. They'd finished their meals and were just chatting when Gulf suddenly went quiet, his face taking on a conflicted yet calm expression. 

"I like you, phi." Immediately, Mew's mind flies into ten different places, an amalgam of he likes me he likes me he likes me to a steadily growing sense of dread and despair that he'd just naturally grown to associate with relationships.

Before now, he'd always fought. Because that was his nature, because that was who he was. But that wasn't right, couldn't possibly be right because all his previous relationships had ended in disaster, and he could never bestow the same fate upon his and Gulf's relationship.

So he runs.

* * *

Mew's never seen a mentor-apprentice relationship quite like Gulf and Mild's. A few months into the Gulf's apprenticeship, and they're practically brothers. Mild is the elder brother, stern yet caring, the kind to playfully slap Gulf's head but also the kind to slip him a pack of his favourite candies after a hard day. Gulf, of course, is the cheeky younger brother, teasing but loving.

Regardless of all their antics, Mild really adores Gulf, and Gulf really looks up to Mild. It almost makes Mew want to take up his own apprentice. Alas, not only does he not have enough time, the last relationship he'd had with an apprentice of anyone's had not ended on the best of terms. It had given him a not-so-nice reputation within the university, too.

Which completely warrants his panic when he spots Gulf talking to some of his colleagues at the university entrance. Gulf is holding far too many bags of take-out - which is what Mew had gone to help him with - and he's chatting casually to one of the grad students and the receptionist, his usual bright smile on his face.

It looks like a completely benign situation, but a flurry of thoughts enter Mew's head, an amalgam of _What have they told him about me?_ to _Oh god what if they told him about everything?_

He slips back into his studio only a few moments before Gulf, and they tread on eggshells for half the day after that. Gulf probably doesn't notice anything, but Mew's mind is in overdrive, and he can't seem to bring himself to interact as he usually does with Gulf.

Mew can reluctantly admit that he’s had more than a few relationships that had gone sour, especially within the university, but he makes sure not to talk too much about it. Especially not to Gulf. And Gulf, to his credit, gives Mew all the space he needs. He seems to sense that there are certain things Mew really doesn't want to talk about, and so he never broaches the subject.

So it's up to Mew.

"Hey Gulf." The younger man looks up from his Folding, eyes wide. Nong Duan looks up from where she's perched on his shoulder, eyes equally as wide. Mew had had a speech (or at least an outline) prepared in his mind, but it all goes to pieces.

"It's just - you were talking to some people. From the department." Mew gesticulates vaguely. Gods, Mew. Do you not know how to talk? The message he's trying to get across comes out in broken, hasty sentences, and he doesn't really know what to do with his hands.

"Huh?" Gulf looks confused.

"Earlier. When you were talking to Bank and Hana."

In the end, Mew finds out the conversation really hadn't been anything significant. Bank, Hana, and Gulf had just been discussing everyday things, which they apparently do sometimes. 

"Have they...mentioned anything to you?" It's so vague. So terribly vague. Mew hates this entire situation.

"They told me that the new café a few streets down from here is really good," Gulf says easily, "we should go there soon. I don't like coffee but they said they have really good cakes and ice cream. But I don't think phis mentioned anything other than that."

_Oh?_

"I think you should be more worried about what I tell them, phi." Gulf has that teasing look on his face again.

"I tell them that you're working so so so hard on your current project and that phi is super cool. And you bought a really expensive cat bed for nong Duan but she refuses to use it unless I sit on it with her."

Gulf laughs at the blatantly flustered look on Mew's face.

"Don't worry na phi. If I'm honest, I don't know what happened between you and them," Gulf's expression is open and honest. As it always is, "but I don't think they hate you, phi. I don't think they hate you the way you think they do."

Mew doesn't fully believe it, but he does believe that things have changed. The next time he allows himself to leave the studio and really observed the way people were around him. His receptionist doesn't go straight to her phone when he walks out, just gives him a tight nod. The students look over at him and a slight murmur runs through the group of them, but not disdainful glances.

He doesn't know how much of he hadn't noticed, or how much of it he actually owed to Gulf. But things are changing, and he feels grateful for that.

* * *

The moment Mew thinks he's cracked Gulf's code, he realizes he hasn't figured anything out at all. He had run away from Gulf and from any possibility of a relationship, or even salvaging the remains of their friendship, and he had expected Gulf not to chase him.

And Gulf doesn't chase.

But he doesn't stop hanging out with Mew, lurking around his studio with nong Duan at the randomest of times. He still works on the project in front of Mew, Folding a little ear before holding it up to Mew and asking him if it looks like Chopper's. (It does. Gulf's really done his research.)

"Why are you still here?" Mew had asked Gulf once. He'd been tired of it, dancing around each other in circles and circles. Gulf is on the floor busy with his Folding, like he's been all this while, and he returns Mew's words with an innocent stare.

"What do you mean?"

Mew buries a hand in his hair in frustration.

"You know what I mean. We're not in a relationship. I've essentially rejected you. But why are you still here?"

"Because I like you, phi." Mew scoffs, shakes his head. That's not a valid reason. His feelings have been compressed for a long time and he fidgets with his fingers. It feels like he's about to implode in a disastrous display of emotions and confusion.

"It's not that simple."

"It's only difficult if you make it difficult, phi." Mew knows this, in the deepest corner of his heart, but to apply it to this situation. It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem to work.

"I suppose." A temporary surrender. His eyes meet Gulf's and an unexplainable warmth rushes through him. _Why?_ , he still wants to ask, but he can't help it, pulls Gulf to him with a relieved sigh. 

"I've missed you, Gulf." Mew feels Gulf's arms circle around him, and press Mew to his chest with a strength he hadn't expected.

"What do you mean, phi? I've never left you." Mew squeezes Gulf closer to himself, and hopes for the best.

* * *

Neither Mew nor Mild have had good experiences with apprentices. Mild's situation, however, is much more recent.

"I don't think you understand how much of an anomaly you are." Mew had told Gulf. When he thinks about all the other apprentices Mild has, his blood boils. Especially the most recent one. That had been the worst.

Mild's previous apprentice was disappointed with the fact that Mild was just an elementary school teacher, and only managed to stay in the apprenticeship all of half a week before he stormed out. As horrible as it sounds, it was probably for the better.

After all, he hadn't even wanted to go into Folding, he just hadn't been good enough for anything else. That had been the case for most of Mild's apprentices, and Mild was too kind to not take them in. And that had taken his kindness and stepped on it. Mew would've been sorry for them, except it was entirely their issues and their prerogatives.

Mew has learned that being sorry to the wrong people is the same as not being sorry at all.

It was entirely that apprentice's loss. Mild's known for being able to draw the best magic out of people, but that kid had been uncrackable. His magic had all the sharp edges of paper, but none of the malleable Folds that it entailed.

And Mild being Mild had taken it as his fault. Mew's friendship with Mild was characterized by Mew usually being a repressed, emotional mess (though he was getting better) and Mild being the everpresent ray of light he was (and he'd always been).

As far as Mew can recall, that was the first and only time Mild had broke down in front of him. And he hasn't had an apprentice since.

He vaguely remembers the period before Gulf had come by. He'd been at one of his regular temple visits, and had received a fortune that new people would enter his life, especially through acquaintances.

Mild had been uncharacteristically curious about this particular statement, and Mew learns why pretty soon.

 _I've been thinking of taking in a new apprentice_ , Mild had mumbled, almost like he was ashamed.

_I have a good feeling about it. It won't be like last time._

_How do you know that?_

_I don't_ , Mild had replied honestly, b _ut you're the superstitious one and you said the fates said this was a good time_. But even though Mew's superstitious and he believes in the auspicious workings of the world, he's hesitant.

"Then I turned up." Gulf says.

"You turned up," Mew echoes, "and thank Buddha it was you."

"I just can't imagine it being anyone else. Between Mild and I, we've had our share of bad apprentices."

"Maybe you just have really bad history with all apprentices." Gulf teases.

Mew gives a hollow chuckle. _Ain't that the truth._

* * *

Fate seems to be repenting, because the way that Gulf became Mild's apprentice (and by proxy, come into Mew's life) had to be fate.

It was a paper crane, both Mild and Gulf said.

It was in Gulf's final year of university, right before he had to choose his magic. And he hadn't made a decision. It hadn't been for wont of trying, though. Gulf and Mild each explained it differently. Gulf said it had been the consequence of having no real path. Mild said that it was the consequence of being too spoiled for choice - that Gulf had always had that natural talent, and the result was that too many doors had opened to him.

Mew secretly thinks the reality is somewhere in between the two. It wasn't that Gulf hadn't had a path, he just hadn't found the right one amongst the many that had opened to him.

The real story, though, is as follows:

Gulf had been at a café with his then-girlfriend. His girlfriend had been the one to suggest it - she had always been the one to do it. They'd chalked it down to Gulf being a lazy date-planner.

It's a nice, small café, almost Korean in its aesthetic. They sit down, and Gulf's too busy admiring the decorations and dazing off when his girlfriend points out the paper crane, sitting idly on the table. Almost like it'd been waiting.

Something had drawn him to it. Magic is magic, but there are some things it can't explain, and this is one of them. Gulf's girlfriend coos over it, makes him pose with it and giggles as she posts the photos on her Instagram story.

On the other hand, Gulf stares at the paper crane in his hand, small and fragile in the center of his palm. Then, without much thought, he pockets it.

It's only a bit later that Gulf realizes he probably shouldn't have taken it away just like that, and he'd gone back to the café and asked the owner who'd left it there. The owner looks up from making his ice chocolate and says he doesn't really remember. The look on his face conveys his confusion that a big man like Gulf is here asking about a tiny Folded crane.

He'd kept it close with him from that day onwards. It'd been the deciding factor really. He'd been looking at the paper crane one night, trying to lull himself to sleep, when he thought. Why not Folding? Sure, maybe it wasn't the most venerated magic out there, and it wasn't what people would be expecting from him, but since when did Gulf ever really care? He'd slept on the issue of what to do with his apprenticeship for so long that maybe this. This was the solution all those nights of sleep could not substitute for.

That was the honest story he'd told his advisor when she asked why he chose Folding. He'd just shown her that paper crane and she'd given him a knowing smile. It was the first time he'd shown anyone that paper crane, but well, she asked.

Turns out his advisor had been Mild's previous professor, and he met Mild for the first time the next week. Gulf had been shy at first, but with Mild's boisterous demeanour and friendly questions, they'd quickly gotten close. After their third meeting, Gulf told his advisor he was sure he wanted to go into Folding.

From there on, things had flown smoothly. He'd filled in the forms, been assigned to Mild, ignored all the questions of why?

"It's not normal for anyone to choose Folding, let alone a man." Gulf says honestly. They all know. "But I think it suits me, doesn't it?" Mew has to agree.

Mild asks Mew if Gulf has shown him the paper crane before. He has - it's squished, a little crinkled, and clearly very well-loved. Mild smiles.

"He takes good care of his things." Mew nods in agreement.

"He's a very good nong." Mild continues meaningfully, "He's not like him."

"I'm not comparing them." Mew says, but he knows in his heart that that's a lie.

* * *

Mew's previous boyfriend had been an apprentice. He was Mew's type when Mew still had a type, all small and cute. He'd first seen him when the other male stumbled into his advisor meeting, hair ruffled and cheeks pink. Their eyes had met and Mew had felt that electric sense of attraction he hadn't felt in a long while.

Turns out he was the apprentice of Mew's advisor. His name was Wiriya, as Mew's advisor had introduced him. Mew had seen him a lot more after that. He was somehow always there when Mew came in for meetings, in the cafeteria when Mew was getting lunch, and chilling at the library bookshelves whenever Mew came in to get some books.

He was very evidently attracted to Mew. And Mew wasn't opposed to it.

Mew had broken up with his then-boyfriend a few days ago, but the relationship between him and Wiriya had begun just a few weeks after they first met. This was the relationship that would last, Mew had thought, and he saw no reason to keep waiting.

Wiriya had been part of the academic circles Mew was in, so Mew had assumed he'd be more understanding of the way Mew's head was always either in his books or in the skies with his planes. He'd trusted him with that part of himself, even brought him back to the university studio. That apprentice had had the same air of curiosity that Gulf does. Initially, when he studies with Gulf he does think of those times he spent with Wiriya in the studio. The shadows of his relationship seemed to haunt Mew no matter where he went.

Wiriya had been the best thing that had happened to him, at first. He was supportive of all Mew's academic endeavours, and equally as delighted to hear Mew hum as he worked, saying he loved Mew's voice.

But the moment he'd sensed conflict in Mew's past, he'd grabbed onto it like a magpie having spotted shiny things. Drama always attracted people, especially if they could use it for their own purposes. Mew hadn't known that then, though. He hadn't known, couldn't have known the way Wiriya would drag up Mew's past. Mew - naïvely, foolishly - had thought it'd been for the sake of healing him.

But that wasn't the case at all. Instead he exacerbated them - the honest curiosity in his eyes, that gaze Mew liked so much, was sometimes replaced with something more cunning. Maybe triumph. Pleasure through Mew's pain. Mew never really got the motives behind that - maybe a sense of sadism, or a sense of power. Or maybe he enjoyed that view of Mew, the Romantic image of a tortured, handsome man, with battle scars that could never be healed. He teased Mew that Mew would get tired of him soon and break up with him. Gradually turned into teasing that maybe he should break up with Mew first before Mew had the opportunity to break up with him.

Mew never understood any of it. Hadn't they loved each other? Why did he have to drag up Mew's past relationships, past break-ups, and force comparisons between those and what they had now? Didn't what they have supersede everything?

Looking back now, Mew knows he'd been a fool. If only he'd known at the time, the truth that was so obvious it was almost hidden. But Mew had learned the truth only after they had broken up.

For the first time, he'd been the one to break up with Mew. Stupid, stupid Mew, believing this was love and that things would be different, had ignored all the signs. Just weeks before their breakup, Wiriya had started rejecting Mew's touch. Which was strange, because Wiriya had loved being touched by Mew, the PDA and all. He'd avoided Mew's hugs like a guilty criminal, which - perhaps he had been guilty. Because only Wiriya himself could have known what he was about to do to Mew.

It'd been the rumours. Because of course, it was always rumours. Before Mew had noticed, the seeds of doubt Wiriya had planted had grown into a destructive mass. He'd told nearly everyone in Mew's department the same story: that Mew was only sleeping with him for the sake of getting an upper hand Wiriya's mentor, a professor who supposedly had all the prestige Mew craved. Which was just blatantly untrue. Mew had always respected his professors, and the thought of manipulating any of them had never, never crossed his mind.

Surely the people who had worked alongside him for so many years, through his master's degree and now his doctorate, would know that. But Wiriya was smarter.

He'd twisted Mew's reputation for his own benefit. Brought in Mew's fuckboy reputation - particularly the part where Mew had had a lot of "weekend/short-term lovers". And everyone in the department already knew about Mew's fuckboy reputation, except now instead of being the elusive, desirable fuckboy, he'd become the one who would sleep with anyone and would get with anyone that moved. Or if he got with people, it was because he wanted something out of them.

Wiriya had said that the only reason he’d lasted longer than Mew’s string of lovers was because there was a motive behind it all. He had implied that Mew had used his money to get him, to get all his lovers. And Mew - Mew had no evidence. He didn’t kiss and tell, after all.

The worst part was that he'd somehow managed to convince everyone that Mew had only been able to get what he wanted through money. His education, his lovers, his everything.

Which - _was it true?_ Mew began to doubt himself.

The thing is, Mew's used his money for a lot of things, but this is one thing he would never do - he's proud of his studies and he's proud that he'd made it into the top university with grades that he'd achieved through his own merit, that he'd maintained the same excellence throughout his academic career. It's something he's always been proud of, and for once he finds it slipping through his fingers.

Their breakup is calm, despite all this. It couldn’t have, because one day, Wiriya just disappears - ghosts Mew, blocks his number, disappears from the university. When he had asked the professor - the professor whose spot Mew had apparently attempted to take - he said Wiriya had quit due to personal reasons, had been transferred to another apprenticeship overseas. Mew vaguely remembers mention of a prestigious apprenticeship in Europe, which Wiriya had spoken about disdainfully. 

Apparently that disdain was but a mask for desire. Which meant that he’d seen an opportunity, and he’d been the one to use Mew as a means to an end, an excuse to leave this already-prestigious apprenticeship for even bigger, better things. _So_ , Mew thinks bitterly, _pretty ironic for all that talk about ulterior motives._ Especially in light of what Wiriya had accused Mew of.

The aftermath of it all is a bloodbath of the most deadly sort. There's a lot of passive-aggressiveness in the classroom always, but Mew's the only one burning under the scrutiny of those eyes as the oblivious professor teaches. 

Mew had closed his eyes, gotten stabbed in the back, and now he's left there lying, left to bleed.

Mild had, of course, heard about it through the grapevine. Mew thought Mild would leave him. Instead the latter had scooped him up into a quiet hug and let Mew cry into his shoulder.

Despite that, the two don't talk much about what had happened to Mew. By this time, Mew had learned to keep his mouth shut. Speak and your words will be used against you, he learned. He's learned his lesson. Whenever Mild tries to comfort Mew about it, Mew shuts him out. Mild knows the gist of the situation, and perhaps more details than the average person, but he’ll never know the way Mew had felt throughout it - the betrayal that felt like suffocation, the broken promises, and the new promises Mew had made to himself. It’s not Mild’s fault. Because Mew has rebuilt his boundaries, and raised his walls. Goes through it all without a word, silent about the wounds that fester on the inside.

This time the apprentice is the one who leaves, but the process of healing - or lack thereof - doesn't really change - it's still Mew trying to pick up the pieces. Again, he's the one left with the wounds and the deep scars. He promises himself he’ll never, never let himself get hurt anymore. _It’s okay to be selfish_ , Mew says, _because the only one you can trust in the hardest of times is yourself._

**Author's Note:**

> \- I'M SO SORRY IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES HAHA I HAVEN'T PROPERLY EDITED THIS N IT'S LIKE 30K WORDS ALREADY HAHA  
> \- was re-reading another one of my fics and the typos...fam...i'm so sorry, thank you for still reading my stories hehe  
> \- anyways come chat w me on twitter! let's talk n write n gush abt mg together hehe [twitter](https://twitter.com/myu_gao)


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